Lifetime
by Tracy-Lou
Summary: Brendan suffers long-term memory loss. Will he remember the people around him and everything that's happened to him, good and bad?
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Hollyoaks!

Summary: Brendan suffers long-term memory loss. Will he remember the people around him and everything that's happened to him, good and bad?

Lifetime

A lifetime gone in an instant. Except this time, it isn't anyone's fault.

* * *

My ears are ringing and everyone's voices sound the same, blurred into one cacophony of noise. It isn't the first time I've been brought in on a stretcher, at least that's what I heard my sister say. Everything is confusing, loud and disorienting. Bright. Definitely bright. They herd me into a room, several pairs of hands poking and prodding me, saying the same name over and over again.

"Brendan? Can you hear me, Brendan?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting some relief from the blinding light. My voice comes out rasping and sore, like I've been screaming for hours. Maybe I have been, it's difficult to remember.

They give me something and suddenly I feel drowsy. My head goes fuzzy and in my haze I struggle to grasp at something, I don't know what. Before I can reach it it's gone and so am I.

I wake some time later in a hospital room. The light is filtering through the blinds but things aren't as bright as they seemed before. I immediately groan as my body readjusts to being conscious. I ache in all sorts of places, namely my head.

"Bren?"

I look over, registering the woman beside me. Her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, straggly and blonde. Her eyes are red, evidently from crying. Even in my confusion, I can discern that much. She's oddly familiar and it's only when I stop to think carefully that I remember her voice from earlier, when I was first admitted.

"He's my brother! Is he going to be okay?"

I blink, my eyes scrutinising her face. There's definitely a flicker of recognition but it's difficult to hold onto. My head aches when I try.

"Mr Brady?" There's a doctor present too. I stare at him, dumbfounded. Who's Mr Brady? Is he me?

He clears his throat, glancing almost apologetically at my sister, whose eyes well with fresh tears.

"Do you know your name?" He asks me, not patronisingly, but with a certain degree of caution.

"Mr Brady isn't it?" I say easily, feeling the natural impulse to do so. I don't know myself but it feels familiar, safe.

"That's right. Your name is Brendan Brady."

There's silence for several beats. I stare between the two of them, waiting for an explanation. When I don't receive one, frustration gets the better of me and I find myself snapping: "What the fuck am I doing here then, Doc?"

The hostility makes my blood feel hot, causes my fists to clench. There's something in it; it makes me feel powerful even when I'm powerless. The doctor barely reacts, instead he glances once more at my sister before he begins to speak.

"Mr Brady, you were involved in an accident. Do you remember anything?"

"If I did you wouldn't be asking."

The doctor smiles a little. "I'm just doing my job, Mr Brady," he says tightly. I nod for him to continue and he sighs. "We have reason to believe you may have suffered some… brain damage." My sister chokes on a sob and I feel an overwhelming impulse to comfort her, even though I don't know her.

"Brain damage?" I repeat, not really taking it in. "What kind of brain damage?"

"We aren't positive yet. I know it's difficult, but do you remember anything about yourself or your life?"

I frown, closing my eyes so I can consider his question. I don't remember who I am, but I feel my personality seeping through me regardless, words and emotions coming to the surface without my knowledge, shaping the person I am into someone real, someone that still exists. Beyond that, I remember little.

Before I have the chance to answer, my sister inhales sharply, seizing my arm suddenly with a tight grip.

"Ste!" She splutters, eyes wild and filled with hope. "You'll remember Ste!"

"Ste?" I frown at her. Nothing comes to mind, nothing at all. I see the hope dwindle in her eyes, replaced by misery once more. Again I feel myself wanting to comfort her. I lay my hand against her arm. "What kind of name is Ste anyway?" I laugh, and it feels natural, like something I would say.

Her smile is watery as she replies. "Does Steven sound better?"

Something hits me square in the chest and I jolt, dislodging my hand. She stares at me in surprise, staring from me to the doctor.

"Is he okay?"

"Miss Brady, your brother has suffered a serious injury. It isn't wise to push him too early."

"What's wrong with him?" She asks, despair colouring her voice.

Something about her words hits home. What _is _wrong with me?

"It's too early to say-" he begins but she cuts him off abruptly.

"Give me a straight answer! I need to know what's wrong my brother!" Her face is hot, her cheeks flushed.

"Alright," he says calmly. "I fear Brendan may have suffered some long-term memory loss. Further tests will need to be carried out of course to analyse the full extent of the damage-"

He cuts himself off as she dissolves into sobs once more. I place my hand on her back, glaring at the doctor fiercely.

"Wanna give us a minute, Doc?"

"Mr Brady, I must insist-"

"And I must _insist_," I growl at him, my voice low and threatening.

Eventually he relents and steps out of the room, leaving us alone. My sister is still sobbing, her face buried in her arms. I rub her back soothingly, making soft, hushing noises.

"Hey," I say gently. "I need you to talk to me. I don't know who I am or what's going on. I don't even know your name."

She looks up at me then, her face blotchy and wet. "You don't?" She asks quietly.

"I want to." I shrug helplessly.

"It's Cheryl."

"Cheryl." I test the name out on my lips, it feels familiar at least, even if I don't remember the person it's attached to. "How did I get here, Cheryl?"

"Call me Chez." She manages a smile, taking my hand in her own.

"Alright. How did I get here, Chez?"

Her smile fades and she looks down at my bed sheets. "It's a very long story."

"I've got time."

She shakes her head. "It's too much information for you. I don't want you to remember…" She trails off uneasily, searching my face for something. "Do you remember anything at all, Bren? About when you were… young?" Her voice cracks on the final word and it makes me nervous.

"Young?" I repeat, confused. I think carefully about her question before I answer. "There is something. It's there, at the back of my mind. I can't reach it."

"Don't." Her voice sounds strange now, twisted. "Please don't."

I nod, taking her word for it even though I know eventually I will remember. It seems inevitable to remember only the bad.

As if reading my mind, she abruptly changes the subject. "You've got kids you know." She smiles at this. "Two boys."

"I do?" I feel something lighten in my chest. "Are they here? Do they live with me?"

She looks troubled again, bowing her head as though feeling the full weight of our situation.

"I'll call them; you haven't seen them in a while."

"I haven't?" Naturally this is news to me. Am I really that kind of father? The kind that abandons his children?

"Like I said, long story." She looks sad again, as though bringing up my boys wasn't the right decision after all.

I make it easier on her. "What about this Ste? Who's he?"

She stares deeply into my eyes and doesn't answer for a long time. "You don't remember," she whispers. It isn't a question.

"I don't remember _anything_," I remind her, almost angrily. "Who is he? Is he important to me?"

She sighs, rubbing her face with her hand. "I'll bring him in. Maybe…" she trails off, her voice lighter and more hopeful. "You haven't seen him in a while either."

"Why not? Where have I been?"

She looks at me, her face tense. I stare her down, ready to demand an answer if she doesn't supply me with one.

"Prison."

* * *

She doesn't elaborate further and I'm too tired to argue with her. Instead I rest my eyes, allowing the oblivion of sleep to protect me from my confused thoughts and unanswered questions.

I dream of someone. His face is cast in shadow but I see the distinct outline of high cheekbones and soft lips. There's something intriguing about him, even though I can't see his face properly. His figure is slight; his hips jut out as though he hasn't seen too many good meals in his lifetime. Even though he appears fragile, he holds himself firm, like he's had to protect himself his entire life. I want to protect him.

I take a step towards him, feeling an odd sense of trepidation and fear. He doesn't retreat but he also doesn't step out into the light for me to see him. I grow curious, wanting to discern if I'll know him when I lay my eyes on him, or even my hands. With that thought comes a shiver of excitement and it feels familiar, like he elicits this reaction every time he's close.

I hear him before I see him. His voice is low, barely a whisper, but I still hear him.

"Brendan," he says, and it sounds like a promise.

I wake up with his name on my lips. "Steven."

I start when I realise I'm not alone in the room. Cheryl is gone and there's no longer any light outside. The hospital takes on an eerie character; sickness and death lurking around every corner, every hushed voice and anxious glance magnified in the stillness of night.

The figure in front of me holds himself awkwardly, hands clasped tightly in front of him. He's glancing around the room as though he's doing something wrong. It's probably long past visiting hours by now. I wait for him to speak but all that stands between us is pure silence.

Eventually he takes a step towards me and I finally see his face. I recognise the cheekbones and lips from my dream but now I finally see the whole profile. He's breathtaking.

He clears his throat, approaching my bed slowly as though walking towards an illusion. He sits on the edge, staring down at his clasped hands.

"Hi." Is the first thing he says.

I blink, not expecting him to speak so soon. "Hello," I reply, somewhat sardonically. I can't wrap my head around this and for some reason it's making me defensive.

He grins suddenly and his entire face lights up with it. Before I know what's hit me, his arms are around my neck, clinging for dear life. His chest is pushed against mine and I can feel his heartbeat, pounding far quicker than it ought to be. Something in my tone must have given him hope.

"I thought I lost you," he whispers against my neck, his breath warm. My arms feel useless against my sides so I wrap them around his waist. He smells fresh; of cheap deodorant and the lingering scent of soap.

"Steven?" I say his name questioningly and afterwards wish that I hadn't. His arms immediately go slack and he pulls away, bottom lip protruding in a miserable pout.

"You don't know me?"

I open my mouth to answer, not having a clue what to say to him. He answers for me by standing up and rubbing his palm against his face.

"Of course you don't, they said you wouldn't. I'm so stupid."

"Hey," I protest, feeling a flare of annoyance at his comment. "You aren't stupid."

A ghost of a smile appears on his face but it fades quickly. "How would you know?" He counters haughtily.

"Are you giving me attitude, boy? I'm the one with the head injury."

He rolls his eyes, drifting back towards the door. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Where you going?" I ask, my voice oddly high. Why do I care if he leaves?

He shrugs, his hand hovering over the handle. "What's the point?"

I blink, stunned by his response. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach there's something like anger bubbling.

"You're gonna leave? Just like that?"

"Why not? You aren't him." His voice is suddenly dull, lifeless. He turns away from me again and I feel the anger reach the surface.

"You gonna give up on me then, hm?" I almost shout, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns around very slowly. "What did you say?"

"Forget it, kid. Don't know what I'm saying."

"I'm not a kid," he says resolutely.

"Who are ya then?"

He comes further into the room once more, a few inches from the foot of my bed.

"I'm Ste." He stares into my eyes challengingly.

"Steven," I respond automatically and there's that bright smile again. He keeps it in check this time, only allowing it to flare for a moment before he's got it under control.

He hesitates beside the bed, glancing quickly at the chair across the room.

"Sit down," I offer, shifting a little to make room for him.

"Thanks," he says quietly, perching on the edge of the mattress.

"Look at that, only known you for five minutes and I've already got you in my bed."

He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Known you longer than that actually."

"How long?" I ask curiously. It's weird but there's something about him that immediately captures my attention. It's not just his appearance, which is admittedly mesmerising, but the way he holds himself. He's certainly got the attitude, but underneath all of that he's vulnerable. He's easy to read too; whatever he felt for Brendan, for me, it's still there beneath the surface.

He frowns, considering. "Five years or so."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "And that would make you how old?"

"Oi what you trying to say?"

I shrug, lips curling into a smile. "Just asking."

"I was twenty when we first met."

"How old am I?"

He blinks, taken off guard suddenly. "Thirty four."

"I feel older."

"Yeah, well…" he trails off, shifting awkwardly on the bed. "How much do you know? About how you got here?"

"Not much. My sister, she won't tell me anything."

"She's probably just trying to protect you."

"I think I'm past that point now," I say honestly.

He looks away again, towards the door.

"Not keeping you am I? You got a boyfriend waiting for you?"

His face flushes pink. "No," he says a little too quickly.

"Oh yeah?" I raise my eyebrows, scrutinising him closely. "Bet you get offers though, don't ya?"

"Do you remember that you're gay?" Steven blurts out, flushing even pinker.

"You don't remember being gay, you just are," I point out, surprised at how much I believe that.

"But you don't remember anyone, so how can you know?"

"Well, the female staff don't seem to be doing much for me," I begin, half-joking. "Plus Cheryl mentioned you straight away."

"She did?"

"Yep."

"I could be anyone though, couldn't I?"

"But you aren't, are you?"

"You don't know that though."

"I think it was pretty obvious the minute you walked in here."

"How?"

I stare at him, wondering if he's fishing for a compliment.

"What do you think?" I say simply, and watch as he slowly realises and begins to squirm. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Don't be soft," he replies, flashing me a nervous grin.

"So what did you bring me anyway?" I say after a moment's beat.

"Bring you?" His face scrunches up in confusion.

"Don't people in hospital generally get gifts?" I ask. There's an uncertainty in my voice; it's something I instinctively know, and yet I can't remember ever experiencing it.

"Sorry, I'll bring you something next time."

"Next time?"

He flushes again, but this time he looks directly at me. "I said I wouldn't give up on you."

"Did you?"

"Take my word for it?" He breathes out unevenly, as if he's suddenly terrified of my response.

I nod, wanting to offer him something concrete. "I trust you."

It's weird how quickly that happened.

Steven coughs awkwardly, rising from the bed. "I should go before someone catches me in here."

"How did you manage to sneak in without being seen?"

He shrugs. "I know how to be quiet."

"That right?"

"What you saying?" He gives me a pointed look.

"I don't know," I admit truthfully. It's a struggle to keep focused, to try and remember anything about him. The memories are somewhere, locked far away in the back of my mind, but I can't reach them, not yet.

Sensing my discomfort, he retreats further towards the door.

"You will come back?" I can't help but sound vulnerable; even though I'm confused and frustrated, it feels better having him here, grounding me in reality.

He looks at me, his face clouding over with indecision. "I said so, didn't I?" He doesn't sound sure.

"You said…" I choke on my words a little.

"I will. I'll come back," he says quickly. I'm not sure which of us he's trying to convince.

"Good. That's good." I nod, relaxing against the pillows.

"Will you be alright on your own?" He asks hesitantly, hand on the door by now.

"I'm always on my own up here." I point to my head. If anyone says ignorance is bliss then they're an idiot. It seems to me it's far better to know. Without knowledge of ourselves and the people around us, we become nothing. A mere shadow. It's a terrifying thought and not one I wish to dwell on. "I'll be fine," I add as reassuringly as I can. This is a different kind of protectiveness to how I felt about Cheryl. I don't want him to worry about me and yet a small part of me hopes he does, if nothing else to bring him back here again.

"See you soon then." He gives me a strained smile before he goes, it doesn't suit him.

When he's gone there is only darkness and silence, both around me and inside my head. I wonder if it always feels that way when he isn't here, and then decide that I'm not ready for that answer.


	2. Chapter Two

The next day proves to be more difficult than the first. I pass a restless night, my mind a mixture of jumbled images that I can't place. I thrash in my hospital bed, almost knocking objects off the adjoining table. Several times a doctor or a nurse has to come in to calm me down. I murmur incoherently at them, terrified because I have no idea where I am or what I'm doing here. By early morning, they've called my sister back in, most likely in the hopes of relaxing my troubled mind.

"Brendan?" She peeks around the door cautiously. I wave for her to come inside. "How you feeling?"

I shrug, turning my face away from her.

"They told me you didn't sleep so well."

I glance briefly at her. "That right?" I can't help but sound bitter.

"You have to let them help you, Bren," she says softly, sitting in the chair beside my bed.

"I can't," I say through gritted teeth, feeling my rage bubble to the surface.

"Why?" She asks, still cautious.

"I don't _belong _here. I'm not sick." I glance warily at the other beds near mine. I'm not in a private room anymore; instead I'm with the rest of the 'crazies'. I grind my teeth, aggravated. "You have to get me out of here."

When she doesn't respond, I finally look at her. Her face is very pale, her eyes bloodshot. She looks as though she hasn't slept either. I suddenly feel intensely guilty.

"Please," I beg, reaching out to grasp her hand.

"I don't know if they'll let you go yet," Cheryl answers carefully.

"You can ask though, can't you?" I squeeze her hand.

She bites her lip anxiously. "I don't live in the area though, Bren. Where would you stay?"

"You don't?" I frown, confused. "Ireland?" I eventually make the connection.

She nods, looking apologetic. "We're staying in a hotel right now. We haven't decided what to do yet."

"We?"

Her cheeks flush pink. "Nate and me. We'll have to find somewhere though; who knows how long…" she trails off, blinking profusely.

I process this, struggling to recall something from yesterday. It should be easy; new memories are forming every minute for me and there aren't any old ones to cloud them. Still, I struggle.

"They called you Miss Brady," I say uncertainly. She looks at me blankly. "You aren't married then?"

"Oh." She smiles and it lights up her pale face. "We wanted to wait until-" she cuts off, the smile fading. "Until you were out," she finishes quietly.

"He's a good guy?" I ask, feeling strangely protective.

"He is. You like him."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "You could just be saying that."

She grins a little. "Would I do that?"

"I don't know, would you?" I grin back at her, feeling a little more relaxed. Maybe the doctors are onto something. "Where's Steven?" I ask suddenly, looking behind her as though he's going to materialise out of thin air.

She tilts her head to one side. "Ste? Have you seen him?"

I focus for a moment. "Yes, he came by last night." I start to doubt myself as I say the words. I remember dreaming of him, was his visit all a dream too?

"That doesn't surprise me," Cheryl says, smiling knowingly.

"Oh yeah?" I stare at her face, trying to read her expression.

"What happened, when you saw him?" She asks curiously.

I should be the one asking the questions, not her. I sigh, relenting.

"He thought I remembered him at first."

Her eyebrows pinch together, causing a crease. "He did?" Her voice is soft but I can hear the tremor in it. She must care about him too.

"I only said hello." I shrug helplessly.

"How did you say it?" She asks, almost accusingly.

I blink at her, perplexed. "I just said "hello""

"Like that?" She pushes.

"Well, yeah."

"Were you feeling particularly grumpy?"

"What?"

She laughs a little, wiping her eyes with her hand. "Oh, Ste. Bless his heart."

I feel a sudden thrill in my body and push myself up with my elbows. Her familiarity of him is both frustrating and intriguing. "What's he like?" I ask, unable to mask the desperation in my voice.

It's clear that I've taken her off guard. "Ste? He's… well, he's _Ste_."

I wait for her to continue. I bite the inside of my cheek with the impatience from her indecision.

She sighs. "He's difficult to describe," she says slowly, as if considering every word.

"Try," I prompt, alarmed by how tensed I am for her answer.

"I don't know where to begin," she admits sheepishly.

"Where did I meet him?" I ask, making it easier on her.

She relaxes then. "We used to own a nightclub, Chez Chez."

"That's what we called it?" I frown and it makes her smile again.

"That's what _I _called it. You only came over to England to get a piece of the action."

"Ah." I nod, waiting for her to continue.

"Anyway, it was our opening night and Tony, he ran the local restaurant, was charging us far too much for the food. Ste worked for him and I thought I could cut a corner and get him to do the food, on the cheap." She smiles, her cheeks flushing again. "Cost him his job."

I almost laugh. "And then?"

"We gave him a job." She frowns a little. "Actually, you did. He threatened to expose us."

I laugh, imagining the Steven I met last night doing this. "Quite the charmer then."

Cheryl laughs with me. "Definitely."

"Expose us for what though?"

The doctor enters the ward then to examine me. While he does so, I look pointedly at Cheryl until she eventually speaks up.

"We were wondering, Doctor…" she begins hesitantly. He looks at her curiously, prompting her to continue. "Would it be possible for Brendan to be discharged?"

He straightens up, looking between the two of us. "Does Brendan have somewhere to stay?"

I glance at Cheryl.

"I still need to arrange something. My partner and I have only been here a few days from Ireland…"

The doctor smiles grimly. "Until then I'd have to say no I'm afraid. Brendan needs constant care and attention."

"I'm still here," I grumble, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.

The doctor looks at me apologetically. "Your condition is still unpredictable. Last night proved that undoubtedly."

"But maybe somewhere familiar would help him?" Cheryl suggests. I feel love surging towards her for the suggestion.

The doctor looks doubtful. "Let's give it a few days, see how you are tonight at least."

"The minute I'm alone I get confused," I say quickly before he leaves. I open my mouth to tell him how scared I was last night but for some reason I can't get the words out.

"That's natural. We hope to do more tests tomorrow to determine how best to proceed with your recovery."

"My recovery? How do you expect me to recover in _here? _Surrounded by people I don't know." I don't add that truthfully, I don't know anyone. He doesn't need to hear that, he knows it already.

"Like I said, give it a few days. There's no benefit in releasing you now before we know how best to proceed with your treatment."

"Treatment? You can't treat this!" I shout, suddenly angry. "There isn't some magic pill to make it all go away. If there is, please, I'm all for it."

"It's best not to get yourself worked up, Mr Brady."

"Don't call me that!" I snarl.

"Brendan-"

"I don't know who that is!" I clutch my head, fingernails digging into my scalp. "I don't know, I don't know."

"Bren," Cheryl's voice cuts through me, pleading and agonised. "Please calm down."

I breathe unevenly through my nose. "I need… I need…" I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

Cheryl hands me a glass of water hastily. Her hand hesitates over my arm, deliberating whether it's safe to touch me. Safe? Where did that thought come from? Surely I'm not, have never been, _dangerous? _

The thought sobers me. I take several gulps of water, letting the cool liquid pool in my stomach. My muscles unclench and I collapse against the pillows, exhausted.

"It might be best to give your brother some rest." The doctor glances at Cheryl, gesturing that she should follow him out of the ward.

When they're out of sight, I close my eyes. It takes a while for my breathing to even out. I feel sleep pulling at me, despite the buzz of voices around me. I couldn't have slept much at all last night.

I wake later, feeling groggy and disoriented. It's still light outside. The ward is quieter; visiting hours are over. I feel a sudden hope pull at me. As if on cue, he appears.

He's bolder this time, striding across the ward purposefully to my bed. He sits on the edge of it, his eyes not leaving my face.

"Took me a while to find you," he says. I notice he's trembling a little. "When I couldn't find you in your old room I thought-" he cuts himself off, closing his eyes as if to ward off the memory. "But then I heard some doctor mention your name and I figured out where you'd be. Sorry, I should let you say something." He breathes out but before I can open my mouth, he continues. "They said you were upset earlier. Are you alright now? Do you need me to leave?"

"I'm fine," I say, my voice notably croaky.

"Good." He breathes out again in relief. "I thought the worst you know. I thought to myself, well, they don't know how to calm you down when you're upset, do they? But then I thought, do _I _know? 'Cause you were angry a lot of the time when we were together and it wasn't always…" he trails off, seeing the alarmed expression on my face no doubt. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?" He laughs and it's the most ridiculous sound I've heard so far.

"No it's… oddly comforting," I respond, clearing my throat. "We were together?" I ask quickly before he can say anything else. It was a fairly obvious assumption but hearing it confirmed is something else entirely.

His mouth opens and closes almost comically. Suddenly he's speechless.

"Steven?" I prompt. It feels strangely _pleasant _to say his name. He appears to have the same reaction, the sound of his own name seemingly having a kind of spell over him.

"Yeah," he answers hoarsely. "We were together."

I nod, allowing this to sink in. "You said I got angry a lot?" I feel almost reluctant to ask but I have to know.

He baulks visibly and doesn't say anything for a long time. It's almost as though he's having an internal debate with himself.

"You can tell me anything," I say, surprised how true the words are. "I won't get mad, I think." I laugh nervously.

His smile is tight when he finally speaks again. "We had some… issues."

"What kind of issues?" I ask warily.

He clears his throat, steeling himself. "You used to hit me."

I allow this to sink in. It's difficult to feel much from it; I have no idea what kind of man I was, or am. I only feel the stirrings of regret. It doesn't even enter my mind to disbelieve him.

"I don't know what to say," I say honestly.

"You don't have to say anything," Steven says quietly. "Cheryl wasn't sure how much I should tell you, about us. But I figured you wouldn't want me to lie to you, no matter what."

I nod, hoping that what he's saying about me is true, the wanting the truth part at least.

"You spoke to her?"

"Yeah, earlier." He shifts uncomfortably on the bed. "She said you were asking after me?"

"I was, yeah." I look up at him. "You didn't come during visiting hours."

He smiles sheepishly. "Took me a while to work up the courage to come here."

I cringe a little. "You're scared of me?" I can hardly blame him, after what he's just told me.

"Of course not." He shifts closer as if to prove his point. "I wasn't scared of you then either."

"Yeah?" I sound sceptical.

"It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

He sighs, looking down at his fingernails. "Me and you, it wasn't always easy."

I nod. I'd gathered that much already.

"You couldn't accept being gay for a long time. When you hit me, it wasn't really about me. You couldn't deal with what you were. I didn't always understand at the time but…" he trails off, looking suddenly pensive. "When we finally did get it right, it was…" his mouth gapes as he struggles to find the right words.

"Beautiful?" I murmur, wondering why that word pops into my head.

"Yeah," he says softly. "We were happy. It was all I ever wanted. If it wasn't for-" he presses his lips together then, hesitant to continue. "Sorry. This is probably a bit much all at once."

Reluctantly, I nod.

"I should go."

"No," I say quickly, reaching out for him and finding his hand. "Don't go. Not yet. Please."

He looks straight into my eyes and I feel… something. He doesn't draw his gaze away as he nods.

"Okay," he agrees. To ease the tension, he laughs a little, staring down at our hands. "You weren't really the hand holding type you know."

"Maybe I can change," I say, and I wonder if it's the first time I've said such words.

"You did, you have," Steven says, his voice distorting with emotion. "I'm sorry." He jumps up, leaving my hand cold and empty. "I need more time."

I stare at him helplessly. "I don't know what to do, how to make this easier. I don't remember him. I wish I could, or maybe not…" I think back on all he's told me and wonder if I truly want to know this man, this Brendan.

His eyes soften with my words and he takes a step closer to me once more. "Don't say that. It wasn't always bad. A lot of the time it was good."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," I accuse.

"No! Honest!" He sits back down again, not as close this time.

I look up at him hopefully. "Will you tell me about him? Maybe something good?" I wince at how vulnerable I sound but it's impossible to feel any different right now. My entire existence is in his hands.

Steven's face changes as he thinks. It takes him a while to respond and I grow anxious. Maybe there isn't anything good to tell after all…

"Remember yesterday, when you said I wasn't stupid?"

I think hard, trying to grasp the memory he's referring to. Strangely it comes a lot easier than some of the others. Perhaps that's the effect he has.

"I remember."

Steven smiles, continuing. "You used to say that a lot, when we got together proper. I'm not really that smart." He flushes. "But you'd make me feel dead capable. More than anyone else ever did."

I feel a strange twist in my stomach at the _anyone else _but I push it aside.

"No one really believed in me, except my family." I stare at him quizzically but he shakes his head. Another conversation to be had later. "You made me feel like I could do anything, be anything. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't even know who I was."

I bow my head, allowing his words to sink in properly. "Not all bad then, huh?"

He smiles brightly and I'm struck by how beautiful he is. I feel an overwhelming desire to keep him near to me at all times. It comes, unbidden, like a sudden bolt of lightning to the heart. Instead of incapacitating me, it revives me.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" I ask, my words coming out in a rush.

He blinks, startled by the strange request.

"It might help, having someone familiar near." I watch his face for his reaction. "Well, not exactly familiar but-"

"I get it," Steven cuts me off. "I guess I could, as long as they don't chuck me out."

"They wouldn't dare," I promise, flashing him a wide grin.

"It's still light out though," Steven tells me.

"We can talk a bit longer, if you want."

Steven considers this, eventually nodding his assent. "I'd like that."

I feel some of the tension in my stomach uncoil at the thought of not spending another night alone. No, not alone. Without him. He begins talking again, about inane things this time, and I lay back to listen, comforted, warmed. Calm.


	3. Chapter Three

Steven and I have been talking for hours. I've learnt a lot about him in that time, most of it not from the words coming out of his mouth.

"I bet you get bored in here, don't you?" He asks unexpectedly.

"What makes you say that?" I reply, bemused. He knows me better than I know myself; any information about my character I immediately soak up.

"You hate hospitals," he says, matter-of-fact. He puts his feet up on my bed casually.

"Makes sense. I asked to leave earlier."

This gets his attention. He looks at me carefully, his expression turning serious.

"You did? Why?"

I shrug. "Something about the place. I can't relax."

He frowns at this. "What did they say?"

"That I can't leave until they do more tests, which they are, tomorrow."

"But after that?"

"No place to go. My sister doesn't have anywhere local to stay."

Steven nods knowingly. I wonder how much they've spoken since I've been in here.

"You two are pretty close, right?"

He blinks, surprised. "Cheryl and me?"

I nod.

"Yeah. She's been checking in on me since you've been… away." He twists his fingers awkwardly in his lap, chewing on his bottom lip.

"I'm sorry," I say automatically, even though I don't know what for.

Steven shakes his head. "It's fine."

"Is it?" I look at him, perhaps a little too intently. His gaze shifts away from mine to the floor.

"Let's not go there, okay?"

I sigh, but don't press him further. "You got anyone missing you at home?"

"What?" His gaze snaps back to mine, startled.

"You've been here a long time, that's all." I smile a little helplessly.

"Oh. No, there's no one." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

I can tell he's hiding something. I open my mouth to ask but he cuts me off by moving from the seat to my bed. It takes me by surprise, how familiar he is with me. It seems to have the same effect on him, but when he remembers our situation once more the light in his eyes dwindles.

"I brought you something," he says, as if only just remembering.

"You did?"

"You told me to, remember?" He smiles a little, reaching into the bag he left under my bed. "Here."

He takes out a cooler bag and inside there are two sandwiches. Jam sandwiches.

"I thought the hospital food might be a bit shit."

"You got experience with that, kid?"

His face flushes red. "Maybe."

"Why jam?" I ask, holding one of the sandwiches in my hand.

"Your favourite," he says softly, eyes fixed on my face for a reaction.

I take a bite, hoping that's he right. I don't want to disappoint him. Thankfully it tastes good. I feel a strange pleasure ripple through me.

"This is amazing. Are you a chef?" I ask, taking two more large bites.

"It's only a sandwich." He laughs. "But yeah, I am actually." He looks proud of himself as he says this.

"You stayed working at the club for a while though, why?"

I finish one of the sandwiches, licking my fingers clean.

He hands me another before he speaks. "Pretty obvious, isn't it?"

I stare at him blankly; it must be a pretty common expression for me these days.

He flushes again. "Forget it. It's getting pretty late, maybe you should get some sleep."

He stands up and I feel the bed move from the release of his weight. "You're leaving?" My voice comes out strained. I swallow against it.

"No," he says, surprised. "I'm just letting you rest. I'll sleep here." He bunches up his jacket against the back of his seat.

"You sure that's gonna be comfortable?"

"Don't matter." He shrugs. "Get some sleep, yeah?"

"You sure you'll be alright?"

"Stop fussing and sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"Right, yeah." I close my eyes but it takes a while for sleep to come. I hear him shuffle about in his seat, trying to get comfortable. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as he finally finds a position to sleep in. After that there is only stillness.

It's still dark when I open my eyes again. For a moment I wonder what woke me and then I hear it again: a faint, sniffling sound and a few, short gasps. I close my eyes again but squint into the darkness, finding Steven's outline in the chair. He isn't sleeping but sitting forwards with his head in his hands. He's crying, no doubt about it.

I debate with myself whether I should tell him I'm awake until he takes his hands away and looks at me. I make sure my eyes are fully shut now. I hear him approach the bed, still sniffling quietly into the darkness.

"You awake, Bren?" He asks, barely a whisper. I remain still.

I feel the dip in the bed as he sits down, much closer than he has been so far.

Wordlessly, I feel his hand on my face, the barest of touches. His palm spreads across the stubble on my jaw, his fingers grazing my cheek. His skin is warm and when he draws his hand away, I can still feel where he touched me. He laughs a little to himself, but I can't work out why.

I wonder if that's the end of it, or if he's going to say something to me. I find myself burning with curiosity; it's one thing to sit with me and speak normally as he has been, but quite another to work out what he's really thinking and feeling.

I feel the bed move again and suddenly there's a warm body pressed against me. Steven slots into my arms with apparent ease, as though he's done this countless times without waking me. I have to fight the urge to pull him closer, to bury my nose in his hair and inhale. I don't know where the desire comes from; it can't simply be a bodily reaction to his warmth. There's something about him, not familiar, but as though he _should _be familiar. I know little of our past together and already I'm burning with the need to discover more.

He moves in my arms, just enough for me to feel his body more acutely against mine. Suddenly it's a different kind of desire shooting through me and I close my eyes tightly, praying that he doesn't feel me against him. _Jesus, _he feels good though. I can see why I was attracted to him, am attracted to him.

Thankfully, he doesn't stir again. I feel his body go slack in my arms, as though the weight has left him. His sniffles turn into quiet snores and I feel safe enough to look at him properly.

He looks younger as he sleeps; his skin smooth as glass, long eyelashes framing his pale, perfect face. I can see the tiny wisps of hair at the back of his neck, lighter than the hair on top. I feel the strangest urge to touch them with my fingertips, gently so as not to wake him.

It's strangely peaceful in the ward. The lights are off, the only source outside where the doctors and nurses bustle around quietly, half asleep off a twelve hour shift no doubt. I start to remember something, someone, who might have worked in a hospital. The memory is hazy at best, and I push the thought aside for now. Instead I watch Steven again, hoping that somehow his physicality beside me will invoke some memory of him. I'm desperate to learn something, anything, that might make him real to me again.

His mouth parts a little, tongue visible as it rests on his bottom lip. I find him fascinating in every way. There's a scar just above his lip and I wonder what caused it. I pray it wasn't me. I shiver a little at the thought and close my mind against any images which might surface; I don't want my first ones of Steven to be marred by violence.

His tongue darts out further to taste his bottom lip and I find myself licking my own, wondering how his mouth tastes on mine. I push the thought aside; it wouldn't be wise to entertain the idea, especially in Steven's vulnerable state. As if in answer to my thoughts, he mumbles a little in his sleep.

"Brendan." He accompanies this speech with a deep sigh of longing. My chest hurts with the weight of it.

I spend the next few hours watching him, studying every inch of his face. I commit it entirely to memory; there's no doubt in my mind that he's important, that he's key to me regaining my sense of self. More than that, I _want _to remember him.

When morning finally comes, I realise quickly that I must have dozed off, Steven no longer in my arms.

I push down my disappointment and focus on the day ahead. It's testing day and I'm anxious for the results they might bring. They tell me I'm to have a series of psychiatric examinations. It sounds a bit daunting to me, truth be told. I have no idea what memories might come to the surface, or if they'll tell me they never will.

Cheryl arrives before I'm set to leave. There's someone with her this time, a man.

"You alright, bro?" She places her hand on my arm, squeezing tightly.

"You got here just in time," I tell her, glancing warily at the man behind her, looking sheepishly in my direction. "Who's this?"

Cheryl flushes, looking behind. "This is Nate, my fiancée."

Nate steps forwards and offers me his hand to shake. I do so, trying not to laugh. He seems the prim and proper sort, unsure how to deal with a man he's already met but who doesn't remember him. I imagine Steven attempting the same greeting and fail to hide my smile.

"Someone's in a good mood," Cheryl notes. She looks incredibly pleased about this.

I shrug. "These tests might mean I can get out of here soon."

"Nothing else?" She raises her eyebrows pointedly.

I look away hastily, horrified that I'm actually _blushing. _Jesus.

"We found a place for us," Nate offers helpfully. He looks a little uncomfortable.

"Oh yeah?" I turn to Cheryl.

"Nate's been relentless. It's lucky he still has some contacts in the area; they were able to rush the contract through for us."

"When?" I ask quickly.

"Couple of days, tops."

I breathe a sigh of relief, flopping weightlessly against the pillows.

The nurse enters then to tell me they're ready for me. I wrap the dressing gown that Cheryl brought for me around my shoulders, fastening it at the waist. I pause when I get a whiff of it, looking at Cheryl quizzically.

"What?" She asks warily.

"Steven been wearing this?"

She starts, astonished. "How do you know _that_?"

"Smells like him," I murmur, shuffling past her to the door. I can feel her eyes on me until I'm out of the ward.

The nurse leads me into a small office. I take a seat opposite the desk and wait. It isn't long before the doctor enters, female this time. I stand as she closes the door behind her, giving her a small nod.

"Brendan," she greets me, pulling another chair from across the room to join me.

"This seems a bit… informal," I tell her, unable to meet her piercing gaze. She seems a bit young to be a doctor; maybe she's newly qualified, a specialist in the field. I must fascinate her.

"This is only the beginning of what will hopefully be a series of examinations," she says, her voice brisk and to the point.

"What do you wanna know?" I ask, leaning back in my seat.

"I have a series of questions to ask you, nothing too personal."

"What are you trying to find?"

She smiles at this. "The more we know about your current state of mind, the better. I'm not going to lie to you, Brendan. Cases such as yours are… troubling. There's no guarantee you'll successfully regain all of your long term memories."

I nod at this, it isn't news to me.

"Are you ready to begin?"

What follows is over an hour of questioning. My answers are vague and I can't imagine they mean much to her. Even so, she notes them down on a clipboard, retaining her poker face. Towards the end my head begins to ache.

"Thank you, Brendan. That will be all for today."

Silently relieved, I exit the small office.

I make my way back to my room but get confused on the way there. The hospital is practically a maze. Frustrated, I find the nearest available seat which happens to be in the waiting room. I don't know how long I sit there for, staring ahead.

A hand touches my shoulder and I look up slowly.

"Nate?" I say questioningly.

"That's me," he replies, sitting beside me. "Everything okay?" He winces then at the question, as though he's said something stupid.

"Mmm," I murmur, non-committal. "Where's Cheryl?"

"Getting us some coffee. How did it go?"

"What? Oh. Fine." I stare ahead again, my mind blank.

"Is anything…" he trails off awkwardly.

"No. Maybe." I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "It's incredible you know."

"What is?" Nate asks, voice low.

"Not remembering that you love someone."

Nate purses his lips. "I can't even imagine."

"I wonder if that's why he left," I muse out loud, and I realise how much it's been bothering me.

"Ste?"

I look at him in surprise.

Nate sighs, clasping his hands together. "He'll come back."

"You reckon? I'm not even half the man he fell in love with." I swallow thickly.

"He'll come back," Nate repeats, entirely certain.

"How do you know?"

"Because he loves you. Sometimes we love even the broken parts of each other, we find a way through it."

"You sound as though you're speaking from experience."

He smiles a little sadly at this. "She took it hard, losing you."

I bow my head. "Thank you for looking after her for me."

Nate looks up in some surprise. "Of course," he says softly.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while longer. Cheryl was right, I do like him.

She reappears with coffees, her eyes full of questions but her mouth firmly shut. She sits next to me, hands me a coffee and stares into the same space Nate and I have been looking into for some time.


	4. Chapter Four

I spend the next four days undergoing further psychiatric tests. It leaves me drained afterwards but I persevere, waiting for the moment they tell me I can leave this place. By the fifth day, I'm waiting for their verdict. Cheryl waits with me, holding my hand tightly in her own. Nate is in the room too, hovering in the corner like a ghostly presence. Steven hasn't been here since that night spent in my bed.

I try not to dwell on it too closely but inevitably it becomes an obsession. When I close my eyes at night I remember his face after I accused him of giving up on me. I remember his smell when I pull the covers up to my chin. I remember his laugh when I lie in the early morning light, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I can feel Cheryl's eyes on me constantly, desperate for something to draw me out of my stupor. It's an impossibility; I can't feel anything but frustrated and confused and without Steven around to ground me, my hope dwindles for a recovery.

Worst of all, I begin to have nightmares. Flashes of memories that I can't grasp, smells I don't recognise. Hot, putrid breath on the back of my neck. I feel it when I wake the next morning and I can't shake the feeling that comes over me. I don't tell Cheryl.

The doctor comes in to see me mid-morning, holding my chart against her chest.

"Brendan." She smiles as she greets me.

"What are the results?" Cheryl blurts out, gripping my hand tighter. Nate moves imperceptibly closer to us.

"It's good news," she says, but her face tells me it isn't entirely good news. "I have every hope that Brendan will make a full recovery, in his own time."

Cheryl lets out a loud breath of exultation. "That's amazing," she gushes, turning to me with tears in her eyes. She pulls me into a warm embrace.

"Yeah," I mumble, wondering why the doctor is looking at me with a serious expression on her face.

"Miss Brady, could I have a word outside please?"

Cheryl's smile fades as she says this, the colour draining from her face.

"Of course," she murmurs, following the doctor from the room. I watch them leave, my heartbeat beginning to pick up speed.

"It's okay, Brendan," Nate says gently, laying a hand on my shoulder and pressing some of his weight against me. He isn't reassuring; his eyes are tight, his mouth pinched. I swallow thickly, wondering what could be so bad that they have to hide it from me.

Cheryl returns to the room sooner than expected. She sniffs, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She gives me a watery smile. "They're letting you out of here, Bren," she tells me, her voice breaking. Nate moves an inch towards her but hesitates when she shakes her head at him. "I brought you some clothes," she says, bustling around in the bag she brought with her. "We'll give you some privacy to get dressed," she says, unnaturally sober.

"They're letting me out that soon?"

"Soon as you're discharged." She attempts a smile again but it doesn't sit well on her face. "We'll just be outside, okay?"

I nod, holding the bag of clothes in my hands. Nate steers her out of the room, glancing back once at me before closing the door after them.

I take out a pair of sweats, relieved to finally be wearing trousers. I notice as I take off the gown how defined my chest is; the t-shirt Cheryl's given me is strained over the broadness of it. I haven't thought too much about my apparent stint in prison but it makes sense to me for my body to be built this way.

I swing my legs out of the bed, putting on the shoes left for me. I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling the most normal I've felt in days.

Cheryl and Nate re-enter the room and I can tell they've been having a serious talk. Nate's eyes dart towards her at every opportunity as we wait for the all-clear. Cheryl holds herself stiffly in the chair beside my bed as though tensed to get me out of here. I'm discharged at twelve o'clock and by quarter past, we're in Nate's car driving to our new flat.

* * *

The flat is spacious and modern, with two master bedrooms and one box room. I ask Cheryl how we can afford it and she tells me Nate is rich. I file that away for later, wondering how I can still give my share. I choose the bedroom at the far end, with the view. The room is bare save a king size bed and a chest of drawers. Cheryl's already left me some clothes and other necessities, which I take into the en-suite bathroom.

I glance at myself in the mirror, noting that I have a beard developing. I rub my face idly, picking up the shaving cream and razor. I shave until there's a light stubble but it's only when I pause to look at myself properly again that I realise I've left the hair above my lip alone, as if out of habit. I brush my fingertips over the hair, feeling a memory tug at me. I put the razor down.

When I re-enter my bedroom, Cheryl is sitting on the bed, staring at the bedcovers as if they hold all the answers. I close the bathroom door to get her attention, not wanting to startle her. She looks up at me in surprise, her face creasing into a smile.

"You shaved."

"Seemed right," I reply, rifling through my bag of clothes for a warmer jumper. "Lot of suits in here," I tell her.

"That's right," she says. She doesn't offer any further explanation. "What do you think of the place then?"

I shrug. "Close to the hospital."

She winces. "We thought that was best."

I wave my hand dismissively. "I get it. Where's the nearest village around here anyway?"

Her eyes widen in astonishment. "Why?"

"Fancied a walk, thought I'd pick us up something for dinner."

She bites her lip, deliberating. "Are you sure you should be going out by yourself?"

"I'm not ill, Cheryl," I remind her, trying not to sound angry. Truth is, I need the space. I haven't had a moment to myself since… I can't remember when.

"I know, but you might confuse yourself," she points out worriedly.

"More than I am already? I doubt that. Look, give me a mobile and if I get lost I'll call you, okay?"

She hesitates, unsure. Eventually however, she relents. "Okay, take my phone. We still need to sort you out with one."

I take it gratefully, shrugging a jacket over my clothes. "I won't be long," I assure her.

"Here, take this too." She hands me a few notes. "You can pay me back later," she adds from the look on my face.

Nate watches me pass through the flat without comment, even when I make it to the door.

"Brendan?"

I turn around, waiting for the same speech from him as I got from Cheryl.

"Take a key," he says instead, placing one into my palm. I nod in thanks, closing the door after me.

There's a cold breeze outside but the sun is out, so I leave my jacket undone. I walk away from the flat building, towards the main road. I don't know where I'm heading exactly but it's a strangely comforting feeling. I walk absently, not taking in my surroundings. Eventually I reach an estate, or at least what used to be one. I pause, the derelict building not the one catching my eye.

Steven is sat outside on a step, knees drawn up protectively to his chest. His chin rests on his knees, staring unseeing into the distance. It takes him a while to notice me and when he does he starts, almost jumping up from his space.

"Don't get up on my account," I tell him, voice low. I sit beside him on the step, far enough away that I don't spook him.

"You surprised me," he says accusingly, but he instantly relaxes. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," I admit honestly. "I was going for a walk and ended up here."

He frowns at that but says nothing.

We sit in silence for a while, not looking at each other. His arms are wrapped around his small frame and he's shivering. I notice he's only wearing a thin shirt. I shrug out of my jacket, placing it around his shoulders, trying not to touch him directly. He doesn't glance up, just pulls it tight around himself.

"You left me," I say, surprised at the emotion behind the words. He looks up then, eyes wide and startled.

"Sorry," he mumbles, collecting himself.

"It's okay," I respond automatically, and we immediately lapse back into silence.

"It's hard," he says eventually, with a sigh.

"I know, I'm not an idiot."

"I didn't say you were."

"I get it; you don't wanna be around me right now, it's too much."

"No." He shakes his head, looking ruffled. "That's not it."

I look at him carefully, meeting his uneasy gaze. "What then?"

"Don't matter." He looks away again, resting his chin back on his knees.

"What are you doing here then?" I ask by way of making conversation.

He glances at me briefly before responding. "Used to live here."

"Yeah?"

"So did you."

I blink, taken off guard. "I did?"

"We both did," he says quietly.

"What happened?"

"Blew up," he says so bluntly I almost laugh.

"Anyone get hurt?"

His face gives nothing away.

"Where you living now then?" I ask, trying to get more out of him.

His face changes then, he looks almost guilty. "Around," he says unhelpfully.

"Meaning?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," I say more sternly than I meant to. I sound like his dad. The thought makes me go suddenly cold all over but I don't know why. It's only when Steven touches my arm gently that I jerk back to reality.

"Are you okay?"

"You didn't answer my question, why should I answer yours?"

He rolls his eyes, smirking a little. "Fine, you really wanna know?"

I give him a pointed look.

"I live in a bedsit, alright?" He looks away, ashamed.

"A bedsit? Why?" I can't make sense of what he's telling me. "I thought you said you had family."

"I do, the ones that count these days anyway," he says under his breath. "But Amy has her own life, I couldn't stay on her sofa forever."

"Amy?" I ask in some confusion.

He looks at me then, his face softening. "Mother of my two kids, Leah and Lucas." He watches my face for a reaction but doesn't seem to get what he was looking for, so instead he turns away from me.

"I can't help it you know," I tell him, resting my forehead on my folded arms.

"I know that," he says carefully. "You just caught me at a bad time, that's all."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No," he says quickly, then flushes. "I mean, it's a free country."

"That right?"

"You're the one who found me here."

"Not intentionally."

"Maybe not."

I stare at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

He shifts a little. "You obviously remember how to get here, deep down. That must mean something."

I process this slowly. "You said we used to live here."

"Yeah."

"Was I happy here?"

His eyes lock with mine, blue on blue. "I hope so," he whispers it so softly I almost don't hear him.

I feel as though I'm being pulled out of my body in the next few moments. Instinctively I lean towards him, my eyes not leaving his. Our bodies are close enough to touch now and I use this advantage to reach out with my hand. I place it solidly against his cheek, stroking the underside of his jaw. I can feel the stirrings of stubble there, can see it visible above his lips. I'm drawn there next, the pad of my thumb brushing over his bottom lip. He shivers a little.

"Brendan," he protests weakly. I see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Want me to stop?" I ask, my voice coming out hoarse and low.

He shakes his head, leaning in to my touch. I grow bolder, closing the distance between us by replacing my thumb with my lips, lightly touching them together. It's like a spark of electricity, as cliché as it sounds. Without meaning to, I pull him close, prying his lips apart to get a taste of him. It's intoxicating.

My hands end up tangled in his hair, tugging him impossibly closer to me. He ends up half on my lap, our lips caught up in a wild frenzy. I feel heat shoot through my body at his touch, blood rushing to my groin. I groan against his lips, tugging his bottom lip between my teeth in my haste.

He pulls away with a whoosh of air, fingers immediately flying to his mouth. He stares at me with wide, wild eyes. Desire is radiating off of him in waves and like two magnets, we come back together again, bodies moulding together, my hands pressing against his back.

His hands find their way up my shirt, the cold contact on my skin making me flinch involuntarily, laughing against his mouth. He smiles with me. He climbs fully into my lap now, lowering the two of us onto the ground. I can feel how hard he is and press myself against him to show him that I'm the same. For a moment I think we're actually going to fuck right there and then but then something changes in his expression.

"What's wrong, Steven?" My voice comes out strained.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers, moving out of my lap and taking his warmth with him.

"We can go somewhere more private," I offer and for a moment he looks tempted. Then he shakes his head, mussing his hair with his fingers.

"No, this isn't right. I'm taking advantage."

I bark out a laugh, incredulous. "You serious?"

He rolls his eyes at me, exasperated. "I might want this, but you don't have a clue who you are."

"So?" I move towards him again, unable to stop myself. "I want this."

"You don't know what you want," he says quietly, a sad smile on his face.

"I want _you_." My voice deepens and again he looks torn. He stands up, shivering once more.

"I can't," he says weakly.

I bow my head, feeling gloom and disappointment settle over me. It isn't just about the desire I feel for him, it's more than that. I feel connected to him, the most connected I've felt to anyone since the accident. I want to explore what it all means but I can tell he's resolved on this one. I'm beginning to learn what a stubborn bastard he is.

"Okay," I say eventually. "But don't rush off anywhere, not yet. I don't know when I'll see you again." I make it clear that seeing him again is non-negotiable. His eyes lock with mine once more and I wonder if he's going to change his mind.

"Where you staying?" He says after a while, shaking himself.

My mind goes blank. "I don't remember the address. I'm with Cheryl and Nate though."

He nods at this. "I'll call her." He's about to leave when I jump up, grabbing his arm.

"Hey, you can't stay in a bedsit."

He laughs a little, his eyes sparkling. "Same old Brendan," he sighs a little sadly. "I'll be alright, don't worry."

"Bad company in those places."

He points to himself deprecatingly. "Bad company, me."

"Seriously, come back with me. Cheryl won't mind."

He chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment, but stops when he sees me gazing in that direction.

"I'll think about it," he answers eventually.

I nod, appeased for now. He's about to leave until I squeeze his arm tighter, unaware that I'm still holding it.

"I… don't know where I'm going," I admit sheepishly.

He smiles at this. "Where were you heading? Before you found me?"

"The shops," I say slowly.

"To do what?"

"I wanted to get some food in."

He chuckles at this. "You can't cook to save your life."

"No?"

"I'd know. You gave me food poisoning once."

"Seriously?"

He laughs. "No, not really. You aren't the best though."

"You're the chef," I tell him. "Maybe you should help."

He raises his eyebrows at me, working out my hidden agenda easily.

"You're trying to get me home for dinner, aren't you?"

I shrug. "You can't be eating right there, I can fit my hand around you."

"Don't be soft." He's smiling again though, looking resigned. "Alright, one meal. On one condition."

"Anything." I promise.

"You let me cook it."

"Deal," I say quickly. He grins at me and I grin back, feeling a lightness settle in the pit of my stomach. "Lead the way then."


	5. Chapter Five

_Ste_

I walk a little ahead of Brendan on the way to Price Slice. It isn't intentional; there's something about the way he moves these days, slow and unsure like he's only just finding his feet. It seems normal but I still feel unsettled. This isn't the Brendan I remember, the Brendan with his long, purposeful strides and confidence.

I glance behind often, stopping short to let him catch up. He waves his hand at me, grunts something I can't work out to get me to keep moving. I open my mouth to make a joke about his age but close it almost instantly. I catch myself doing that a lot lately, finding things to say that used to make him smile. I tell myself I don't say them to spare his confusion but really it's because I can't bear to see the blankness in his eyes.

I always thought that losing him to prison was the worst thing that would ever happen to me, to us. Turns out I was dead wrong.

"Are we almost there, Steven?"

The name sends a shiver up my spine but I ignore it, turning around to look at him.

"Yeah, it's just there." I point towards the small shop and note how his eyebrows rise in disbelief.

"That it?"

"Were you expecting a Tesco?"

He shrugs, walking past me to the shop door. I grab a basket and immediately start loading it with ingredients.

"What we having then?" He asks casually, glancing over his shoulder at me.

"Thought I'd make something simple, lasagne."

He nods appreciatively. "Just us or?"

"Do you think Cheryl and Nate would want some too?"

"I can ask." He gets out a phone that I recognise as Cheryl's. I'm momentarily relieved that she's looking after him properly, and then sad that it's not me doing it.

I leave him to it, getting a few more supplies. I'm just picking out some pasta sheets when I feel a presence behind me. I jolt as I realise it's him, standing _very _close, close enough to feel his breath on my neck.

"It's just us tonight. Nate's taking Cheryl out for dinner."

I swallow hard. "Great," I say weakly, cursing myself for how obvious I'm being.

"You could stay over, if you wanted."

"Brendan-"

"We have a spare room, or you could sleep in my bed."

I whirl on him, my cheeks flaming hot.

His eyes are immediately apologetic. "No, I didn't mean _that. _I meant I could take the spare room." He clears his throat, looking away guiltily.

"It's okay." I breathe out evenly. I realise my hands are shaking a little.

"You got enough money for all that?" He asks, gesturing to my basket full of items.

"Um." I check my pockets, digging deep until I find a note. "Ah!" I say triumphantly, deflating when I realise it's only a fiver.

"Don't worry, Cheryl gave me some money."

I nod. Normally I'd argue with him about paying but I realise that this Brendan isn't bothered about appearances. I don't know how that makes me feel.

We leave the shop with two carrier bags; Brendan carries both. Some habits are clearly still intact.

Brendan's a little unsure of the way home so I call Cheryl. It's a brief conversation; she sounds anxious.

We walk along in silence, but it isn't uncomfortable. I can feel him beside me, even when I'm not looking at him, and it feels like old times when I could feel his eyes on me from across a room, could sense his approach from a distance. I wonder what will happen when he finally remembers me. I wonder what he will remember first. I wonder if he'll even remember me at all.

"You okay, Steven?" He asks, breaking me out of my daze.

"Sure," I lie easily, hunching my shoulders.

"You still cold?" He wonders, mistaking my posture.

"I'm alright."

"We can't be far off."

"No," I agree. We lapse back into silence.

I'm surprised when we arrive at the flat and find it empty. Brendan picks up a note from Cheryl, explaining where they are and how to contact them. I wonder what it took from Nate to convince Cheryl to leave before we got back.

Brendan dumps the shopping bags on the table and locates some glasses from the cupboards, which are still quite bare.

"Drink?"

"What you got?"

Brendan walks over to the fridge, taking in its empty contents. He looks so put out that I have to laugh.

"Don't worry, I thought ahead." I take out a bottle of Jameson's and lay it on the counter, eyeing him carefully.

"Whiskey man, am I?"

I say nothing, watching as he unscrews the top and pours out two glasses. He swirls it in his glass for a moment, closes his eyes and swallows in one gulp. I realise that I'm holding my breath and it's only when he opens his eyes again and smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners like they used to, that I breathe again.

"Not having yours?"

I smile sheepishly, taking a small sip before wincing.

He grins widely at my reaction, like he did the first time I tried it.

"Why did you get it if you don't like it?"

"Because you like it," I say, matter-of-fact. He blinks and suddenly the silence is excruciating.

He takes a step towards me and I jolt like a startled animal. It stops him in his tracks.

"I'd better get dinner started," I say in an unnaturally high voice. I curse inwardly, frustrated at myself.

He leaves me to get on with it, taking my glass over to the sofa with him and switching the television on. I shake out the tension in my body, relieved to be alone for at least a little while. It's unnerving, the effect he still has on me. It's almost like losing a limb and feeling its presence long after it's gone, only to get it reattached again and not being used to the relief that comes with it, not to mention the worry that you might lose it again. I shake myself, laughing a little. I've been watching too many crime shows.

"What's so funny?"

I jump, almost losing my grip on the cheese grater. "Jesus, Bren. Can you wear a bell or something?"

"What's wrong?" He's close again, too close. His ability to ignore personal space hasn't disappeared with his memory.

"You made me jump, that's all."

"I wanted to see what smelled so good," he murmurs, voice low and throaty. His eyes are fixed on my lips. "But I'm beginning to think it's you."

"Bren…"

He brings his hand up to my face, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead. I feel myself go rigid. If he doesn't move away soon, this is going to get _embarrassing. _

His other hand moves behind me, grabbing a pinch of cheese and popping it in his mouth.

"That's for the lasagne," I protest.

"Get it back then." He smiles hugely, like a lion might observe his prey.

"Bastard," I mutter under my breath and Brendan raises his eyebrows challengingly. Before I truly know what I'm doing, my arms are wrapped around his neck, my lips pressed against his.

He reacts instantly, pulling me towards him and spinning us until we hit a solid wall. My head connects and I curse against his mouth.

"Sorry," he murmurs against my lips. "Bit over excited."

"I can see that," I reply, my eyes locking on the bulge in his trousers.

"Bedroom's just down there," he tells me throatily. "If you wanna," he adds, uncertain.

"I do," I say, but already I'm wavering. "But…"

"No, no 'buts'. Not that kind anyway." He grins at me and feeling almost light headed with it, I grin back. He kisses me again, more urgently this time. His tongue slides against mine almost possessively. I feel us falling into familiar rhythms until I remember that he isn't himself and I pull away, feeling a knot form in my stomach at my resolve. "I know that look," he says, resigned.

"You do?" I ask almost hopefully.

"It's the one you wore earlier." He sighs, releasing my waist. "It's okay, Steven. I'm sorry I tried again, I don't know what came over me."

"It's not your fault, I shouldn't have kissed you."

"I'm not sorry for that." A flicker of a grin crosses his face. "I'm sorry for how it might… make you feel."

I blink in surprise. "What do you mean?"

He steps away from me a little and I feel myself go cold all over.

"I don't remember us, Steven." He looks at me apologetically for his bluntness but I nod for him to continue. "But I can feel something here, something important. I can't imagine what you must feel."

"You don't wanna know." I sigh, walking towards the oven once more.

"Hey." He grabs my wrist. "I do. I wanna know everything."

"No." I shake my head. "If I told you everything it would only mess with your head." _Some things you__'__re better off not knowing_, I add silently to myself.

"I know Cheryl's hiding something from me," he says suddenly, looks like he's been bursting to voice this concern of his. "Before we left the hospital they took her outside the room for a minute and when she came back she was white as a sheet."

"It's not easy on her," I reply with some difficulty.

"That's not it," he says, shaking his head. "She's keeping something back."

"She's just trying to protect you." We all are.

"I don't need protecting, I'm a grown man."

"I know that." I smile a little. "It'll make sense someday, don't rush it."

"I have these nightmares," he continues as if I haven't spoken. "I'm in this room and it's dark. There's someone else in there with me. His breath is hot and I can feel it here." He points to the back of his neck and it makes me shiver. "I wake up before anything happens but it terrifies me. Until I know what it means-"

"No," I cut him off, my voice coming out strangled. "No."

"No?" He looks at me in disbelief. He doesn't understand, how could he? I can't be the one to put that weight on him, I can't be the one to tell him.

"I should go."

"Go? What are you talking about?" He immediately intercepts me as I make my way to the door.

"Lasagne takes about forty minutes, the cheese goes on top," I say dully.

"You can't just leave," he splutters. I can see he's working himself up.

"I'm sorry, Brendan. Me being here isn't helping." I feel sick at myself. How can I run from this, knowing what I know? I'm a coward and I hate myself for it. But I can't bear to see the realisation in his eyes. I _can__'__t. _

"Please," he tries a different tact, his voice lowering in pitch, desperate. "Tell me what it is, tell me."

"Brendan, I can't." My voice cracks.

"Why?" He roars, anger coming thick and fast now.

"Because I love you!" I blurt out, unable to stop myself. "I love you and I can't bear to see you in pain."

He blinks, astonished. "You love me?"

"I have to go."

"Wait!" He moves in front of the door. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. Just stay and we don't have to talk about it anymore, I'm not sure I even want to now." He laughs nervously.

I look into his eyes, wide and blue, dark eyelashes framing them. God, I love him. It aches in a way it hasn't for a long time.

"Okay," I say, taking a breath. I couldn't leave him like this anyway. What if he remembered the minute I left? I shudder again. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around me, drawing my head to his chest.

We remain that way for some time, breathing each other in. I can feel the steady beat of his heart and it comforts me like it used to.

"Steven?" He says eventually. It comes out barely a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"You really love me?" He sounds wondering, almost pleased.

"Yes." There's no point hiding it.

"Good," he says simply, and I can tell he means it.


	6. Chapter Six

I watch Steven as he finishes cooking our dinner. There's an ease to his movements when he's in the kitchen; he seems to feel at home there. He looks up now and again, catching me looking at him. I'd feel embarrassed but in my situation there's no room for it. I have to lay everything out there in the hopes that something might click, might trigger a memory in me.

I already feel close to something as it is, but I know it isn't going to be a pleasant revelation. I can see it in the way Steven looks at me sometimes, not to mention the fearful, agonised looks Cheryl shoots me when she thinks I'm not paying attention.

I push it out of my mind for now and focus on him. He has his back to me as he puts the finishing touches on our meal; the cheese sinking into the hot dish. I stand up to get some plates out but my sudden movement seems to have startled him. He turns on his heel, face softening when he sees what I'm doing.

"You don't have to do that," he says, brushing his hands on one of Cheryl's aprons. It's bright pink and I raise my eyebrows at him, smirking. "What?" He looks self conscious all of a sudden, hands flying to his hair.

I chuckle, taking a step towards him. "I like the apron," I say softly, reaching up to brush my fingers through his hair. "Think you managed to get some cheese in here," I tell him. His eyes are locked on mine and I feel that familiar thrill between us. I lean in closer and so does he and for a moment I think _finally _until I hear a key in the door and we both spring apart guiltily.

"It's only us," Cheryl says loudly, bursting into the room as though she's rushed the whole way back. I take in Nate's resigned expression and nod to myself.

It takes her a moment to realise Steven's here too. When she does, she immediately goes towards him, arms outstretched.

"You alright, love?" She asks, kissing him on the cheek. I feel a flare of jealousy in the pit of my stomach. It's so easy for her to touch him, to be familiar.

"Yeah, not bad." He hunches in on himself, glancing at me. Cheryl looks between the two of us, her smile fading.

"What are you up to?" She asks, recovering.

"Steven made us some dinner," I mumble.

"There's plenty for you and Nate too," Steven offers.

"That's okay, we've already eaten. Besides, you know how much Brendan eats." She looks at me, expecting some kind of reaction that I can't possibly give her.

"Let's give them some privacy," Nate says, diffusing the tension. He guides Cheryl towards their room, giving me a nod before he closes the door.

"That was a bit awkward." Steven laughs a little, taking the plates out of my hands. Once again I reach towards him, this time wiping the lipstick off of his cheek. He colours instantly, shuffling away from me to dish up. My hand hovers in mid-air for a moment before I drop it. I repress a sigh.

The lasagne tastes good; I wolf mine down in minutes while Steven picks at his, looking distracted.

"Something wrong?" I ask him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"I don't know if I should stay here tonight," he says, not looking at me.

I freeze, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. "Why?" I croak.

He glances at me then, looking sheepish. "Not easy, is it?"

"What you talking about?"

He shifts in his seat, looking embarrassed. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Do I?"

He rolls his eyes, standing up to take our plates. "Forget it."

"No, come on." I take his wrist and he flinches. "What is it?"

"I don't wanna say," he murmurs, hurrying off to the kitchen. I follow, boxing him in against the sink.

"Please," I beg in a low voice. He stiffens, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the counter.

"Don't," he whispers, but doesn't turn around. I stare at the back of his head, baffled and frustrated.

Cheryl's bedroom door opens abruptly. Nate takes one look at us and smiles apologetically.

"Unfortunately we have to leave you tonight," he says. "My mother wants to see us."

"Now?" I glance at the time. It's only just gone seven. It feels much later.

"Well, I called her." Nate shrugs.

Cheryl comes out of the room next, looking annoyed. "Yeah, practically begged her to have us."

"That's good, isn't it?" I frown, trying to recall something. "You told me you haven't seen her in ages."

Cheryl's expression smoothes out as she takes this in.

"Exactly. She'll be delighted to see us, won't she, Cheryl?" Nate prompts.

Cheryl reluctantly agrees. "I suppose it's only one night." She looks at Steven then. "Are you staying tonight, Ste?"

"Well, I-"

"Great." She grins, interrupting him. "We'll be back in the morning."

We watch them gather their things and leave, Steven still pressed against the sink, as far from me as possible. I turn back to him when they're gone, alarmed by the look on his face.

"Jesus, Steven what's the matter?"

He pushes past me, wringing his hands together in agitation. "I told you-"

"I'm not forgetting anything." I wince at my choice of words. "Just talk to me."

He sighs, picking absently at his fingernails. I go towards him, pulling his hands into mine. He tries to pull away but I hold on tight.

"Tell me." I realise how unfair I'm being but I can't let him leave, not like this.

"It's bad enough," he begins quietly, grinding out each word. "That I'm in love with you, but when you're touching me…" he glances down at our entwined hands. "Please, Bren. Don't make this any harder."

"It doesn't have to be hard," I point out, releasing him. "I told you what I want."

"And I told you I can't."

I rub my temple, feeling hopeless. "I'm sorry, Steven."

"You should make me my cocktail." He laughs and I relax, grateful to him for trying to alleviate the situation.

"Cocktail?"

"You made me one once, to say sorry."

"I only made you a cocktail once? Not the best boyfriend material."

He smiles at that. "You weren't all bad," he says thoughtfully.

"That right?"

He shrugs, still looking thoughtful. "No one's perfect."

"Mmm," I agree. I suddenly can't take my eyes off him. "I should show you your room."

He blinks, startled. "Oh, right. Yeah."

I lead him past the kitchen. "That's my room." I gesture with my head. "This is yours."

"Next door." He looks up at me, blue eyes shining.

"You're welcome to come in if you have a nightmare," I tease him.

He bows his head, hiding his grin. "And what would you do?"

I lean against the nearest wall. "Comfort you of course."

"You wouldn't be annoyed at me for waking you up?"

"I don't know, would I?"

He considers this. "Not so much when we got back together. When we were just seeing each other, probably."

"How long were we seeing each other before we got together proper?"

"About two years."

"Seriously?"

"It took you a while to get there."

"I must have been soft in the head."

He smiles at that, opening the door to his room and peering inside. "Bit small, innit?"

"You're small."

"Oi, shut up!" He gives me a shove.

"What? It's true, ain't it? Scrawny arsed fucker."

"I'll show you…" the words die on his lips, his eyes widening as he takes a step back from me.

"Don't shut me out, Steven."

"I'm not."

"It's better if you tell me things, I might remember." I open my bedroom door and step inside. He follows me after a moment's hesitation.

"I couldn't tell you everything, there's too much."

I sit on my bed and he keeps himself close to the door, as though anticipating a quick getaway.

"You know what they say, actions speak louder than words."

He rolls his eyes at that. "Same old, Brendan. Trying to get into me pants."

I laugh, pushing myself off of the bed. "Can you blame me? Look at you."

"Shut up." He shakes his head.

"No, really. You're just…" I trail off, struggling to form words to describe him.

"Don't bother. We never needed any of that before."

"Yeah?"

"You were right about the actions thing."

"It speaking louder than words?"

"Yeah."

"How's this then?" I cross the room in two long strides, pushing him up against the door.

"Why are you doing this?" He sighs, laying his head against my shoulder.

"Because even though I don't remember, I know I love you," I say, surprising even myself. He looks up at me sharply. "I can't describe it. The memories aren't there, not yet, but I can feel how important this is." I touch his chest with my hand, where his heart is.

"There are reasons I'm not letting this happen," Steven says eventually. We seem to finally be getting somewhere.

"Tell me."

"It's not that simple. There are things you don't know about, things that would make this… wrong."

I shake my head, clearing any dark thoughts that might linger from my dreams. "It can't be wrong, it doesn't feel that way."

"Not to you."

"I'm saying yes though, Steven. Wouldn't I say the same if I knew everything?"

"That's not the point." He frowns. A part of me thinks he might be wavering.

"Then what is?"

He stares at me blankly, mouth hanging open. He swallows thickly. "I don't know anymore."

I take a step away from him. "Let's just sit for a bit, yeah?"

He nods, breathing out unevenly.

I push the pillows against the headboard, leaning back and leaving room for him. He crawls onto the bed and comes up beside me. I wrap my arm around him and pull him against my side.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"I don't mean to be pushy, Steven."

"Don't be daft, you should have seen yourself in the early days."

"Oh yeah? That bad?"

"You wouldn't leave me alone half the time."

"And the other half?"

"You'd go all cold on me." Steven shifts a little against me. "It wasn't great to be honest."

"But it was better? When we…?" I trail off.

"Definitely. It was never perfect, but that was just us."

"Perfect is overrated anyway."

"Got that right."

We both fall silent, lost in our own thoughts. I wonder what's supposed to happen next and what he's thinking about.

"Do you think Nate did this on purpose?" He asks eventually, surprising me.

"Did what?"

"Went to his mum's."

"Why would he?"

"To give us some privacy."

"That doesn't seem to be Cheryl's objective."

"No." Steven frowns at that.

"I'm grateful anyway."

"Brendan…"

"I'm not gonna start again, I promise. It's just… nice, I guess. Having you here to myself."

Steven sighs, moving away from my side.

"Hey, where you going?"

"Need the loo, don't I?"

"Toilet's that way."

"You got a toilet in your room?"

"En-suite."

"Posh bastard."

"Watch it."

He grins at me, bouncing off of the bed. While he's out of the room, I take the time to look through a few of my belongings. I only have the basics right now, the rest is in storage according to Cheryl. I take out unfamiliar clothes and put them in my dresser.

Steven comes back in then, tilting his head to the side quizzically as he takes in what I'm doing.

"Gonna be weird seeing you in suits again."

"I've got nothing to wear a suit for right now. Can't imagine anyone employing me, can you?"

"You'd be surprised." He flops back onto the bed, laying down and letting his t-shirt rise. I notice he hasn't tucked his boxers back inside his trousers properly.

"Making yourself comfortable, hm?"

"I've been doing some thinking."

"When you were on the toilet?"

"Yeah," he says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

"What were you thinking then?"

He sits up, crossing his legs. "I'm gonna stay for a bit."

"I thought you already were."

"No, I mean not just for the night." He looks at me, face smooth and open. "If you'll have me that is."

For a moment I'm speechless. I stare at him for some time, feeling my chest tighten. Without even thinking it through, I climb onto the bed and pull him towards me in a fierce kiss. He reacts instantly, placing his hands against my face and pulling me closer. He seems to have lost his earlier reluctance; something must have clicked.

I break away, unable to ignore the swell of happiness rising within me but still needing to be sure.

"It's okay," he whispers, his pupils blown wide. "It was always gonna happen."

I kiss him again, pushing him back until we're both lying on the bed. I twist our bodies until he's manoeuvred on top of me, hips straddling mine, the friction of our groins making me hot all over.

He kisses me this time, sure of himself in a way I haven't seen him be so far. He grinds against me, groaning into my mouth. I realise with a startling intensity that I haven't done this before. Except I have, but the memory is lost to me for now. He seems to realise this at the same time, pulling away to look into my eyes.

"We'll take it slow, okay?"

My mind becomes overwhelmed with something that isn't bleak. I struggle against the memory; his words sound blissfully familiar…

"Okay," I agree, smiling to reassure him. He smiles back and it lights up his face. I brush my fingertips against his cheek, loving the flush of colour it brings out.

"We need um…" he looks embarrassed all of a sudden.

"What?" I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

"Hang on," he says, struck with a sudden idea. He leaves the room before I have a chance to react. He's back in under a minute, wrapper in hand. "They won't miss one." He grins at me, bounding back onto the bed.

"That's my little sister."

"Forget it." He shushes me with his mouth, tongue darting out to caress mine.

I run my hands underneath his shirt, pressing against his lower back. He arches at the touch, pulling away to take the shirt off. I bury my face against his chest, breathing in his warmth and smell. I feel something stirring in the back of my mind but I'm too in the moment to consider it for long.

He's eager to get my shirt off so I let him, laughing when his eyes widen at my defined chest.

"You're huge." He breathes. I see him swallow and lick his Adam's apple in response. He tastes so delicious I feel as though I can devour him whole. Instead I kiss the soft bit of skin below his ear, feeling him shudder against me.

Something instinctive takes over and I push him onto his back, pulling him out of his trousers. His cock lays erect against his stomach and I drink in the sight of him. I kiss his stomach, feeling the downy hairs against my nose as I travel lower. I kiss the inside of his thighs, loving the way he gets goosebumps. Hesitantly, I kiss his cock. He jerks in response, almost uprooting himself from the bed.

"Relax," I murmur, and feel a kind of familiarity in it.

His hands tangle in the bedcovers as I kiss him again, this time allowing my tongue to dart out. I lick his shaft, my tongue flat as I take it to the tip. He groans when I do it again and again, my hand drifting to his balls, rolling them in my palm. Feeling more confident, I take him into my mouth, sucking at the head to start with and gradually taking more of him inside. He closes his eyes, repressing a whimper.

"Don't hold out on me, Steven," I tell him and he opens his eyes, staring at me in wonder.

This time when I take him into my mouth, he lets out a moan. I smile around him, withdrawing with a satisfying _pop. _

"'Atta boy."

His gaze is locked on me, the intensity both startling and warming. I offer him my fingers and he takes them into his mouth almost greedily. The sight of him lapping and sucking makes me feel a little light-headed. He releases me, lips glossed over with spit. I keep his gaze as I gently rub against his entry, hoping his saliva will be enough.

He opens up for me, his muscles tightening around my fingers as I gradually ease more inside. The tight heat of him is making my cock strain inside my trousers. I slide them off, taking the condom he brought in and rolling it on. Instinct again.

He spreads his legs for me, throwing his head back. Once again I lick his throat, nipping at the nape of his neck.

"Brendan," he groans, almost pleadingly.

"I know," I murmur. I slick myself up with more spit and position the head against his hole, pushing in gently. He tenses for a moment but lets me in inch by inch. I shudder against him; he's even more tight than I anticipated. "Jesus," I mutter, and feel him laugh against me.

"You didn't even need my help," he says wonderingly.

I push the thoughts beginning to surface to the side and wrap my arm around his waist, holding him in place.

"Ready?"

He nods, closing his eyes automatically.

"No," I tell him. "Keep looking at me."

He opens them immediately, and gives me the purest look of adoration. I feel something crash into me and it spurs me to give him this, to give us this.

I rock against his body, keeping my movements contained at first. There isn't enough lubrication so I spit on my hand again, kissing him in apology.

"It's okay," he murmurs against my lips. "You won't break me."

His words send a thrill through me and my movements pick up pace. I take myself out of him to the tip, slamming back to the base in one fluid movement. It makes both of us shudder. I do this several times, aware that I'm hitting a particular spot inside of him that's driving him crazy.

I re-position us so his legs are wrapped around my waist. He holds himself securely in place, our bodies tangling together as I lower myself to his level, wanting to be close to him while I fuck him. He kisses me, mouth wide and willing.

In those moments I forget everything else and remember only him. His body, slick with sweat as it slides against mine, his breath hot in my mouth. His cries of pleasure reverberate around the room and I'm suddenly intensely thankful that we're alone.

He gives my chest a pat, indicating that he wants me to move. He pushes me to a seated position, not releasing my cock from inside him. He moves slowly up and down on top of me, one arm curled around my shoulders, the other wrapped around his own cock, pumping to the rhythm of his thrusts.

This position is more intimate. I can feel his breath against my neck, and it's a pleasant sensation. I can feel myself building to the climax and can see the same reaction in him, his hand jerking erratically with his need to come. I take his hand away, replacing it with my own. I create a suction of heat with the palm of my hand and watch the effect it has on him. He comes within moments, shuddering against me, his head falling against my shoulder to muffle his cries.

I push him back, giving him no time to recover. I pull his legs apart and push into him relentlessly until I too come, almost screaming with how intense it feels.

In the moments afterwards, I'm aware of a faint buzzing in my ears. I watch as he cleans us both up and slots himself against my side, pulling the covers over our bodies. Now that the haze of sex is over, I realise something with startling clarity.

"It's alright, innit, when it's just you and me?"

He looks up at me, his eyelashes framed around his bright blue eyes. His lips are soft and kiss swollen. His hair falls against his forehead.

"Brendan?" He asks wonderingly.

I kiss him.

"Yes," I murmur against him. "I remember it."

"Remember what?" He asks, but I think he already knows.

"Our first time. I remember it." I pull him tight against me, an overwhelming need seizing me to keep him close and solid in my arms. "I remember."


	7. Chapter Seven

_Ste_

"You… remember?" I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. My heart is in my throat, a steady thrum that's almost painful.

Brendan's eyes are bright, not focused on me but instead looking into the middle distance as though he's watching something play out before his very eyes.

"I started to remember during. Some of the things you said, they were familiar."

I thought hard about that. "It's difficult to remember…"

Brendan laughs loudly, clutching me closer to his side. "Not for me, Steven!"

I'm not being entirely honest; I remember a great deal of that first night. I remember how terrified I had been, not because of what Brendan had done to me only a week before, but because of what it all meant. A part of me had fallen for Brendan that night. But right now I don't want to say anything that might tamper with Brendan's recollection and if I'm honest, I'm wary of getting my hopes up over it.

Even so, it's difficult not to get caught up in Brendan's joy. I haven't seen him this pleased in such a long time. It feels like a part of Brendan has been given back to me. He remembers me, even if it's one memory, even if it only ends up being one memory. It's enough.

Brendan's grip lessens a little, jolting me back to reality. He's staring at me in concern.

"What's the matter? Why aren't you pleased?"

"Of course I am," I say, but there's a tightness in my stomach I can't ignore.

"You don't seem it." Brendan says, frowning. I reach up to touch his face, stroking the worried lines away.

"I'm just a bit stunned, that's all."

"Don't you see what this means, Steven?" He says, talking very fast. He grabs my face in between his hands. "I could remember more, I could remember everything!"

The tightness in my stomach becomes painful. I find myself standing up.

"Give me a sec," I say, turning away from the confused and hurt expression on his face.

I go into the toilet and shut the door behind me. I immediately go to the sink, splashing cold water on my face. It clears my head a little, until I remember it was exactly the same thing I did when we kissed for the first time. How long until Brendan remembers that? How long until he remembers the first punch? How long until he remembers-

My thoughts are cut off by a loud knock on the bathroom door.

"Steven?"

"I'll be out in a minute!" I call back, taking a good, hard look at myself in the mirror. I take a deep breath through my nose, relaxing my face into something less alarming. I smooth my hair down, noting how sexed I look. It makes me smile, the memory of what we've just done. I find it in myself to open the door again.

Brendan's standing right outside, arms crossed over his chest. He's still naked, which makes it all the more amusing to me.

"What?"

"It's funny seeing you look all stern like that."

"I wouldn't need to look stern if you told me what was wrong."

My humour fades. I walk past him to the bed, sitting on the edge. I reach for my clothes. He takes them out of my hands and throws them across the room.

"Brendan!"

"You can get dressed after you've told me what's wrong."

"That's mad you know."

"I am a bit mad, I remember that a little." He grins wolfishly at me. "Would it help if I told you exactly what I remember?"

"Maybe," I say warily.

"Alright." His face scrunches up in deep thought. "So we're in a flat… I don't recognise it."

"It's our old place, or mine as it was then," I supply.

"Okay. You're wearing a hoodie with yellow on the hood. My fingers are hooked in your shirt. We're kissing, deeply."

"Mmm." I close my eyes, remembering that particular kiss. I remember the thrill it sent through me, adrenaline the only thing keeping me upright.

"We're in the bedroom. We undress each other, I notice you're shaking like a leaf." Brendan closes his eyes, a wondering smile on his lips. "I tell you we'll go slow, like you told me earlier. You nod but you still look scared. I trace my fingers across your stomach, almost in apology…"

My breath hitches, causing Brendan's eyes to open.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember why you did that?"

Brendan closes his eyes again, his face no longer relaxed. "Yes, vaguely. I'd hit you. I don't remember hitting you, I just remember the faint bruises." Brendan's voice grows sad. "I'm sorry."

"We don't have to do this."

"No, we need to." Brendan takes a deep breath. "I lay you down on the bed and we kiss for a long time. Your fingers are in my hair, tugging. I laugh against your lips. It takes you a while to relax enough for me to start doing anything. I kiss down your body, lingering on your thighs. I bite you." Brendan's face turns baffled by the last words.

"You were pretty possessive back then," I tell him.

Brendan's lips curl into a smile. "I take you into my mouth, eventually. I make it slow, like I did earlier. It drives you crazy."

I can feel myself stirring at the memory, my cock growing hard at his words.

"Then I start with the fingers. I've got lubricant. I put a whole load on, worried in case I hurt you."

"You remember that?"

Brendan nods, still in that place. "It takes you a while to adjust. You're so _tight._" He smiles a little. "I'm patient with you though, and when you're ready for me, I reassure you again with kisses. You cling for a little longer than necessary and don't stop kissing me as I enter you…"

"Brendan." I gulp, feeling my hands drift to my crotch. Brendan's eyes follow the movement, licking his lips.

"Why don't I show you what else I remember?" He says, pushing me back against the bed covers, hands either side of my head.

"That could work," I say. He kisses me and I forget my worries for a while.

He takes me through exactly what he remembers, right down to the bite on my inner thigh. Unlike the first time though, I'm more sure of myself. I move in the right places, especially when he enters me from the side. His hands are splayed across my belly, warm and possessive. He peppers my neck and throat with kisses as he holds me, rocking gently into me at first and then picking up speed.

Afterwards I curl myself around his body, head resting against his chest. I feel safe again, as though the bad memories can't touch us.

He kisses the top of my head, lingering there to breathe in my scent.

"You gonna tell me what that was all about earlier, hm?"

I bury my face deeper into his chest so he can't see it. He places his hand underneath my chin, coaxing me to look at him.

"I'm just a bit worried, that's all."

His face softens. "You don't have to worry."

I can't tell him why I'm worried so I plaster a smile onto my face. I can tell he doesn't quite buy it but he doesn't question me further.

Instead he threads his fingers in my hair. His touch is light and so gentle it makes my eyes feel heavy. It can't be that late yet but I'm suddenly exhausted. I know I'll ache in the morning but it'll be worth it.

Sure enough, when I next open my eyes it's morning. The curtains are still open; neither of us thought to close them before we went to sleep. I'm not curled around Brendan anymore; he's on the other side of the bed, splayed out and taking up all the space. I smile to myself, shuffling forwards to slot myself into his arms. He grunts a little before accommodating me. His arms are solid and warm around my waist. It feels so good to be held like this. To be held by him.

"Mornin'," he murmurs sleepily. His hand rests against my belly like it did last night. We're still naked and it makes me shiver in the cold of the morning. Absently, Brendan pulls the covers over us properly, cocooning us.

"This feels good," I tell him, burying my face in his pillow. It smells of him. I remember after he went to prison how I used to do the same thing until his scent disappeared. That had been the hardest part.

"Could get used to this," he kisses my ear and then nips it playfully. "I remembered something else in the night."

I turn in his arms, wanting to look at him for this. "Yeah?"

"I remember dozing with you afterwards and you lied about the time."

I flush at the memory, attempting to hide my coy smile. "You didn't tell me off at the time."

"I guess I didn't know until I really thought about it. You were a crafty wee thing, weren't you?"

"Enough with the small cracks."

Brendan raises his eyebrows at that and I pat his chest.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were gonna though."

"Maybe." He smiles hugely, the same glint in his eyes from the night before. "I wonder if I'll remember anything else today."

"Well, don't rush it," I mumble, pressing my nose into his chest hair.

"Don't sound too thrilled, Steven."

"I am, I just don't want you to overdo it."

"I'm not running a marathon, I'm remembering my life."

"Some things you're better off leaving in the past though."

"Not you. I don't want to leave you in the past." His voice sounds strained and it makes me look up. His eyes are clouded over with worry.

"I didn't mean me," I say quickly, wanting to take the hurt out of his expression.

"Good." He sighs, relaxing again. "Because you aren't going anywhere. Not in here or otherwise." His finger points to his head, his smile crinkling at the corners. I smile with him, happy to be in his arms and trying to forget everything else.

"I wonder if Cheryl and Nate are back yet."

"What time is it?" He asks, then smiles. "Or maybe I should check myself." He leans across me to grab his watch.

"Be careful you don't crush me," I wheeze and he pulls back, grinning knowingly. "I don't think I've ever seen you this big. Except the last time you went to prison."

"The last time? I've been more than once?"

"That's a long story, and not a nice one," I tell him, hoping he'll drop it.

He sighs. "I bet I've got a lot of them."

"Don't worry about it for now." I kiss him. "Just remember the good," I whisper, hoping his brain pays attention to my request.

"I should get us some breakfast. Never mind me being huge, you're far too skinny. You're as a skinny as the first time I saw you naked."

"You're enjoying that one memory of yours, aren't you?" I tease him.

"It's certainly one I'll be replaying over and over in my head."

"I'll bet."

He rolls us out of bed then, pulling me to my feet with my hands.

"Ow." I wince. "I think I need a shower."

"Been a while, has it?" His eyes gleam with triumph.

"Yeah, yeah. Soak it up."

"You have a shower, I'll sort breakfast out."

"You sure you can manage?"

Brendan scoffs. "Wait and see, Steven."

I grin at him, taking myself off to the bathroom.

I emerge ten minutes later, feeling relaxed and warm. I'm wrapped up in Brendan's dressing gown. Or mine, it's hard to keep track.

When I open the bedroom door I'm confronted with the smell of bacon and eggs. My mouth waters. I perch on the edge of the kitchen table, watching Brendan put them on to plates for us.

"Not back yet then?"

"Nope." Brendan nudges me off the table and I take a seat.

The bacon is a little crispy at the edges and the eggs are a bit overdone but I wolf them down hungrily. I feel like I've finally gotten my appetite back. This doesn't go unnoticed by Brendan.

"Hungry are we?"

"Mmm, wonder why," I say around a mouthful of food.

"Made you a coffee too." He pushes it towards me. "Didn't know how many sugars you wanted."

For some reason this makes me pause. For a moment I'd almost forgotten his lack of memory.

"Thanks." I smile at him, adding a few scoops of sugar into my mug.

"What do you wanna do today?" He asks me conversationally.

"I dunno," I reply, taken off guard. "Is there anything you need?" I ask hesitantly.

"I wanted to go and collect some of my things from storage."

"Oh, right."

"Might jog a few memories."

"Yeah, maybe."

He frowns at me long enough for me to lower my fork. "What?"

"You're doing that face again."

"What face?"

"The worried face."

I sigh, taking a sip of my coffee. "Of course I worry about you, how could I not?"

"Because you love me?" He smiles broadly at this, leaning across the table to steal a kiss.

"You're gonna keep bringing that up, aren't you?"

"Can you blame me?" He grins, shovelling some bacon into his mouth. He moans in pleasure. "Tastes so good."

"I'll make breakfast tomorrow if you like."

His eyes light up at the promise of tomorrow.

"I should probably get some stuff from my place though, I need a spare change of clothes. Toothbrush. That kind of thing."

"We'll go by there too."

"Do you think…" I hesitate, unsure if I should voice this concern.

"What?"

"That I should stay in the spare room?"

He stares at me in some confusion. "Why?"

"I don't want Cheryl and Nate to get the wrong idea."

"What's the wrong idea exactly?"

"You know… that we're together again."

"Why is that bad?" He sounds hurt.

"Cheryl might think it's a bit fast."

"I don't care if she thinks that."

"She's your sister, you've always cared what she thought."

Brendan frowns at this, clearly torn. "Do what you think is best." He's gone cold on me all of a sudden. He rises to clear our plates, turning his back to me.

"Don't be like that." I stand up and move towards him, wrapping my arms around his middle. "You know I want this. I just think we should sit her down and tell her properly. She's had enough shocks." I shudder at my choice of words but thankfully Brendan doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't say so. He turns around, holding my waist at arms length.

"If you think it's the right thing to do then okay. I'll miss you though." He practically growls the last part.

"Maybe I'll sneak in during the night. It'll be fun."

"You'd better." He kisses me again.

It takes us a while to get dressed; Brendan's new found confidence in us is difficult to resist. It almost feels like it was before. Almost.

Brendan calls Cheryl before we leave, asking if he can borrow their car. It's a nice one, Mercedes. It reminds me of Brendan's old car, especially when he climbs into the driver's seat, looking completely at ease there.

"I wish I could drive," I tell him.

"You can't?"

I tell him the story of my joyriding days, which seems to amuse him immensely.

"I'll give you lessons sometime, if you want," he offers. He's offered the same to me before, before prison. Of course he doesn't remember that though.

"That'd be good, if you've got the patience for it. I drive a little fast." I grin wickedly at him.

"I think I can handle it." He grins back.

We arrive at the storage place first. Brendan hands the man the details Cheryl left for him to find and he directs us to the appropriate hold up. Inside are numerous boxes, all sealed. I wonder what's in them and whether Cheryl and me should check them out first.

We load them into the car, squeezing some into the back seats as best we can. I hold one on my lap, a light one. It's probably clothes. I wonder if any of my clothes are in there. If they are, I haven't missed them.

I direct Brendan to the place I'm staying, cringing in my seat when we pull up outside. Brendan's staring at me reproachfully. It does look a bit run down; the garden outside is cluttered with junk that's too crap to steal. Some of the windows are broken and boarded over. It makes my old flat look like a paradise. I sigh wistfully, reaching for the door handle.

"Oh no you don't. You're staying in here."

"What? Why?"

"I don't want you stepping foot in there again," Brendan tells me sternly.

"I only came to get a few bits."

"You might as well get all of it, you're not coming back here."

"Oh yeah? Where else am I supposed to live?" I'm getting angry now and so is he.

"With me, like we said."

"I can't do that forever though; it isn't fair on Cheryl and Nate."

"Then we'll get our own place, it's no problem."

That pulls me up short. "Seriously?"

"What did you think last night was about, Steven? And this morning? I'm serious about this, about us."

I'm stunned, too stunned to speak at first.

"You still want this, don't you?" Brendan asks at last. He doesn't sound angry anymore, just sad.

"I do, of course I do." I reassure him. "But we can't take all of my stuff anyway, there's no room in the car," I point out.

He considers this.

"We'll go in and pack a bag for you. I'll pick the rest up later."

"Brendan…" I trail off, realising that it's pointless to argue with him right now when he's this set on something. "Alright, come on then."

The rest of the house is asleep thankfully. I don't talk to the others much; they aren't the best company, to put it lightly. Brendan follows me up the stairs, keeping close to my back. He is less than impressed when he sees my room. I haven't taken much care in making it look nice. It only has a mattress along with all my belongings strewn across the floor.

Brendan finds a holdall and loads a few of my clothes into it while I get the essentials. We're in and out in under ten minutes.

I'm strangely glad to be back in the car. Brendan's got a point; I can't stay there any longer. It doesn't feel like me anymore. The old me didn't have much hope but this one does.

Brendan looks at me a few times when he drives us back. He's always looking like he's trying to work me out. I wonder how frustrating it must be for him, to not remember. I smile at him, reaching across the handbrake to take his hand. Things might not be perfect for us but it's a start, and that's more than we've had in years.

When we arrive back at the flat Cheryl and Nate are there too. Nate comes out to help us unload the boxes from the car while Cheryl fixes us some lunch. I go in to help her after a while, my back aching from too much carrying.

"How's it going?" Cheryl asks, pushing some tea my way.

"Fine. Think we got everything Brendan needed."

"I noticed the bag by the door too, not Brendan's." Cheryl raises her eyebrows at me.

"Oh, yeah. I said I'd stay a few days, if that's okay."

"Ste, you know you don't even have to ask. After everything that we've been through…" She blinks away some moisture in her eyes. "I'm just glad you're here. Brendan needs you."

I smile at her. "He even remembered something you know, last night."

"He did?" Cheryl's entire face lights up with the news. "What was it? Tell me everything!"

"Well…" I flounder. My cheeks burn. "It's a bit private actually."

Cheryl stares at me in confusion for several moments until she cottons on. "Oh!" She grins widely, slipping me a wink. "That's wonderful though! Imagine what else he could remember!"

"Yeah, imagine." My voice takes on a dull quality which Cheryl immediately picks up on.

"You don't think…" she trails off, uncertain.

"I don't know, Cheryl. Maybe we should tell him, before he remembers somehow."

Her eyes widen in shock. "We can't do that," she says in a hushed voice. "It would kill him."

I shiver at her choice of words, making her slip her hand in mine apologetically.

"It'll be painful either way, he has to know someday."

"But does it have to be _now_? Look how happy he is."

I do look. Brendan has just finished bringing in the last of the boxes. Nate is grinning at him, offering him a cold drink. Brendan sits on the sofa heavily. He glances in my direction, a warm and fond smile on his face.

"It's not fair," I whisper.

"I know," Cheryl whispers back, clutching my hand tighter.

Brendan must see something in my expression because he beckons me over to sit with him.

I run my fingers absently over the few strands of hair at the back of his neck before I sit down, compulsion to touch and soothe him overwhelming. He smiles at me, patting my knee.

"Everything okay, Steven?"

"Sure, never better."

He scrutinizes my face. "I don't believe you."

"Well that's too bad," I say, keeping my voice light. He frowns at me.

"What do you want to do with all this stuff, Brendan? We could help you look through it if you want?" Nate asks, sitting in the chair opposite us.

"Maybe later," Brendan says, his eyes not leaving my face.

"I wanted to have a look myself anyway," I say quickly, glancing at Cheryl. Might as well get it out in the open; it's not as though he's going to leave me alone today.

"Why?" Brendan asks suspiciously.

I look at Cheryl before answering. "In case you've got anything of mine, that's all."

"We can look together later then," he affirms. I sigh inwardly.

"Okay." I keep my expression neutral, feeling the way his gaze is burning into mine. "I found something of yours the other day too," I begin conversationally. He doesn't have to know that I've kept it on me every day since I found it again.

"What is it?" He asks eagerly.

I take it out of my pocket, handing it to him.

"A cross?" He holds it in his palm.

"It's yours. You gave it to me once, when I wasn't well. It got a bit lost but I found it again, kept it ever since."

"You weren't well? When?" Brendan asks sharply.

"I got hit by a bus," I say bluntly. Brendan's eyes widen almost comically.

"Jesus," he breathes. "Why are you giving me this now?"

"Because it's yours," I reply, confused.

"But I gave it to you," he says, pushing it back into my palm. "It might mean something."

"Bren-"

"Keep it," he says, his tone suggesting there's no room for argument.

I nod, my hand clasping it tightly. It's been such a part of me for a long time that parting with it would have been difficult. Except now I've got something more than a necklace, I've got him.

"I should go put my stuff in my room," I say, deciding that I need a moment to myself. Brendan looks like he's about to follow but then stops himself.

"Are you gonna be alright in that small room, Ste?" Cheryl asks with concern. "If we'd known you'd be staying with us we'd have found a place with three big bedrooms."

"It's fine, I've stayed in worse." Brendan looks at me then, and I turn away, flushing.

"You can have my room," he offers quietly.

"Don't be daft," I mutter. "See you in a bit."

When I'm alone in the room, I close the door and sit on the bed. It hasn't been made yet so I do that, liking the way it clears my head. I put my few clothes away in the chest of drawers and fix my gaze on the other door in the room.

"Huh," I say, suddenly confronted with Brendan.

"I guess we're sharing a bathroom then." Brendan grins at me from the mirror.

"Looks that way."

"How's your room?" Brendan turns to me. His face is dripping wet. He grabs a towel from the rack.

"Fine," I reply.

Brendan peers behind me into my room. "Bed's a bit small."

"Not as though I'll be sleeping in it much."

"True."

We pause for a moment, staring at each other.

"What?" I ask eventually.

"We should tell Cheryl about us."

"You think?"

"Shouldn't keep secrets from your family," Brendan says soberly and for a moment my heart stops. "Steven?"

"Sorry. You're right. We'll tell her tomorrow."

He smiles then, moving closer to wrap his arms around my waist.

"Then you can stay with me."

"Is that what you want?" I find myself asking.

"Of course it is. Why would you even ask that?"

"I dunno, I don't want it to be like I'm boxing you in. I don't even know how you felt about me before the accident."

"We're gonna have to talk about that sometime, the accident."

"Yeah." _We__'__re going to have to talk about a lot of things_, I add silently to myself.

"Maybe looking through my stuff later will help," Brendan says, tightening his grip on me as though afraid I'm about to bolt.

"Hopefully."

He pulls me against him then, kissing me roughly on the mouth. His moustache brushes against my upper lip. I'd missed the feel of it for all these years.

"We should probably get back to Cheryl and Nate. They'll be wondering where we are."

Brendan sighs, releasing me. "I like being alone with you."

"Oh yeah?" I smirk at him. "I wonder why."

"Not just that." He grins back.

I bow my head a little. "What's gonna happen when you remember?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are we gonna carry on as we are, together like?"

He stares at me in confusion. "What else are we gonna do?"

"Good answer." I rest my head against his chest, against his heartbeat.

"Come on," he murmurs after a time. "Let's not keep them waiting."

I hum a little under my breath, pulling myself away.

"Later," he promises. I'll hold him to that.


	8. Chapter Eight

The rest of our day passes by uneventfully. The boxes are left in the living room, piled in one corner. I can't help myself from glancing over there now and again while the four of us relax and watch television. Every time I do, Steven glances with me, his gaze always settling on my face. He seems tense, his body rigid next to mine. I try to touch him when I can; small grazes against his knee, a brush of our hands.

Towards the end of the evening, after Cheryl and Nate have gone to bed, I switch the television off and turn myself to face him, giving him a hard look.

"What?" He asks warily, shuffling back on the sofa. I push myself closer, eyes intent on his face.

"I don't want to look in the boxes tonight."

I see him visibly relax before he catches himself and attempts to keep his face neutral.

"That's fine."

"Yeah?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Steven," I say levelly.

"Can we go to bed now? I'm dead tired."

For a moment I pause, imagining all the wonderful things we could be doing in bed but then I shake myself. This is more important at the moment.

"I'm gonna look through them tomorrow."

"Okay…" Steven's gaze shifts away from me and I take the opportunity to push myself even closer to him. I rub my fingertips across his pulse, enjoying the way it quickens with my touch.

"You can't protect me from everything," I murmur quietly, looking down at his wrist.

"I can try," he says, sighing. "Try telling yourself this when you remember everything," he adds wryly.

"That bad?"

"Oh yeah."

I smile, looking up at him. "We can go to bed now."

"Good, because this feels far nicer than it should."

"That right?" I move my fingers up his arm, stroking the underside of his elbow.

He shivers a little, goosebumps rising on his skin.

"You cold?" I ask him, my hand moving up to his shoulder and then against his neck, stroking the soft, downy hairs at the back.

"Not really," he says unsteadily.

"Shame, could have warmed you up in bed," I tell him, voice low.

"In that case…" He stands up, taking my hand and tugging me to come with him.

We almost crash into the bedroom door in our haste, lips joined, hands grasping and exploring. Steven pushes me against the wall, taking a deep breath before kissing me again. I have a sudden flash of something and I kiss him harder to try and grasp the memory.

His hands find their way underneath my shirt, stroking my spine. He moans into my mouth, breath hot. I pull us towards the bed and offer a low growl when Steven undresses himself and spreads out before me.

His body is already becoming familiar to me, or perhaps some instinctual part of me remembers what he likes. I ready him with my fingers before lining myself up, loving the way his gaze locks with mine as I enter him.

I take my time with him; enjoying the way he writhes and moans beneath me, desperate for release. I kiss him throughout until he's begging me to go faster, harder. I smile at him, withdrawing just enough to drive him crazy before slamming back inside, making us both shudder with the impact.

We continue until I can tell he's about to come. I take him in my hand and stroke him until his climax spills over. He wraps his legs around my back, moving himself against my cock until the teasing gets too much and I take control and quicken my pace, feeling my orgasm ripple through me.

We lay panting and sweating together afterwards, Steven's head resting on my thigh.

"That was…" he trails off, still catching his breath.

I curl my fingers in his hair, letting them rest there while we recover.

"And you wanted to sleep in separate rooms."

"We still should you know, what if Cheryl goes to check on one of us?"

"She wouldn't do that, would she?"

"She has before." Steven sits up to look at me. "Do you remember that?"

I think very carefully.

"I don't remember Cheryl," I manage to say eventually.

Steven's expression doesn't waver. There's some deeper thought going on behind those eyes but he doesn't offer anything. Instead he positions himself so he's resting against my chest, his back to me.

"Do you remember anything else, since yesterday?"

"I thought something was coming back to me earlier."

"Yeah?" He leans back enough to look up at me.

"The way you kissed me… I dunno, it felt familiar. Must be a pattern there."

"Are you saying we have to keep having sex for you to remember stuff?" He grins up at me impishly.

"Can't hurt." I grin back, but something's troubling me.

He settles back, his head warm and secure against my chest. He crosses his legs in front of him, tracing his fingertips across my forearms, which are wrapped around his middle.

"Do you think it'll all come back to me one day, or I'll remember things now and again?" I ask after a while.

"What do you mean? It's the same thing, innit?"

"Not exactly. Will I get it back in one big hit or will it take years of trying to remember?"

"What would be better do you think?" Steven asks, smoothing his thumb over the back of my hand.

"Well, the first one _would _be quicker."

"But…"

"It depends what kind of memories I've got," I say, knowing that Steven won't fill in the gaps for me.

"They aren't all bad," he murmurs instead.

"I know that after yesterday." I give him a squeeze.

I see him yawn and I glance at the time.

"Getting late."

"Not sure I can be bothered to go back to my bed."

"Then don't."

"Bren…"

"Come on," I croon, kissing his neck and tightening my grip around his middle. I let my lips linger there, driving him crazy.

"Fuck sake, Brendan."

"Is that a yes?"

"You gonna let me say no?" He turns in my arms, pushing me back against the pillows.

"Of course," I say. "Do you want to say no?" I ask, a little unsure now.

He kisses me then. "Don't be soft." He grins against my mouth. "Not leaving you, am I?"

"Ever?"

He holds my gaze for a moment, suddenly serious.

"I promise."

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, there's a space beside me in the bed. I sit up, confused and almost panicked until Steven bursts through the door.

"Not getting rid of me that easy," he teases, placing a tray of breakfast down on the bed.

I'm fixed in place, trapped in the moment between dreaming and waking.

"Am I… dreaming?" I ask tentatively. I don't know what makes me say it, I only know that it's something powerful and beyond my control.

Steven freezes as though afraid to break the spell. I take his wrist, pulling him gently onto the bed with me.

"Don't speak for a minute," I whisper, focusing all of my energy on the jumbled mix of images in my head.

Steven purses his lips together. If the situation was different, I would laugh.

There's too much to take in, too many blank spaces in my head. The memories before felt easier to recover, as though they weren't clouded by something else. I sigh, bowing my head.

"Sorry, Steven."

"So close," he says absently and it makes my chest ache. He comes back to himself after a while, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It's okay, there's still time."

I nod, unable to shake the uneasiness away.

"Come on, eat your breakfast," he says coaxingly. I smell bacon and eggs.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast."

"I said I would, didn't I?" He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm gonna take a shower, okay?"

"Without me?"

He grins at me a little easier then. "Another time."

I watch him leave before I start on the breakfast. It gives me a moment to breathe before the day begins. I can already hear Nate and Cheryl moving around the flat and for the first time I consider how crowded things are going to get with the four of us living here. A part of me wants to take Steven somewhere, just the two of us. Another part of me wants to wait until I remember Cheryl. It seems baffling to me that nothing has come back to me of her, my own sister.

Steven reappears wrapped in a towel. His hair is dripping wet and his chest is gleaming. The very few hairs he has are matted down and for a moment I'm distracted, wanting to touch them.

"Steven?"

"Yeah?" He runs another towel through his hair before leaving it to rest on his shoulders.

"Do I have any other family?"

Steven pauses, his hand halfway between unravelling the towel. I curse myself for my timing but this can't be ignored.

"Um," he exhales shakily. "No. Not really."

"No?"

"All dead, far as I know. Except your boys, and Eileen."

"Eileen." I nod; Cheryl's told me about Eileen.

"How did they die?"

"Does it matter?" Steven says sharply. "Sorry," he adds immediately after.

"They weren't good people?" I guess, gently probing Steven for answers.

"No, they weren't." His tone tells me the subject is closed. I wonder if I can get more out of Cheryl.

"Want some help with that?" I ask after a while, gesturing to the towel around his waist.

"Should really get dressed," Steven says, looking sheepish.

"Do you have to?" I go to him, wrapping my arms around him.

"Cheryl will be wondering where we are," he protests. I snake my hand in his hair, tugging him towards me for a kiss.

"She'll survive," I murmur, my other hand resting on his arse. I give him a squeeze.

"Brendan? Ste?" Cheryl knocks on the door. I groan, pulling my lips away from his.

"Later then," I tell him and he smiles.

Cheryl's already began unpacking some of the boxes by the time we're both dressed.

"There's some of my stuff in here too," she says. "Didn't want to take it all to Ireland with me."

"I'll help," Steven offers, taking his place beside her on the floor, cross-legged.

"I'll be back in a bit," Nate says, putting his coat on.

"You got the shopping list?" Cheryl asks, reaching up for a quick kiss.

"I've got it. Enough to feed a small army, mind."

Cheryl beams at me. "I didn't know which of your favourites you'd still like so I put all of them down."

"You didn't have to do that," I say, taking a seat on the sofa.

She shrugs. "Least I can do," she mutters, to my confusion. Steven looks away, troubled.

Once Nate is gone, I broach the family subject with Cheryl. She goes white as a sheet, saying the bare minimum as Steven had done. I sigh, frustrated. I'll have to find things out for myself then.

While the two of them busy themselves in sorting through the boxes, Steven nudging Cheryl whenever he finds some garish item of clothing belonging to her, I do my own digging. There's a box marked family albums and I fish one out, away from their line of sight.

The first album holds mostly baby pictures. I see myself, red-faced and screaming for the camera. My mother holds me with pride, all dark curls and bright eyes. There are various pictures of me growing up as a toddler; first birthday, first swimming lesson, my early years. The later pictures include Cheryl. I can't find any baby pictures of her; only ones of her older, blonde curls already prominent. There's an interesting photo of the two of us at what appears to be her birthday party. She has her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, grinning at the camera. I'm looking off into the distance, distracted.

Something about the picture makes me pause and I can't put my finger on it. I think hard, trying to place the memory. I look through the other photos of Cheryl and something begins to click. I remember that young girl with the infectious laugh and the bouncing hair. I remember how she'd follow me around and cry when I had to leave. I look at the woman in front of me and a fondness begins to warm my belly. Something's coming back to me, not quite a slideshow of our life together but a definite familiarity, a loving and protective bond.

I smile, about to open my mouth and tell her and Steven this new development until something else in the picture of us catches my eye. A man, standing in the background, cast in shadow. He's not looking at the camera, he's looking at me.

I feel a cold dread settle around me, and with shaking fingers I take the picture out of the album, turning it over to read the elegant script on the back.

_Brendan and Cheryl, Cheryl__'__s birthday party. With Seamus. _

Seamus.

The first thought that comes to me is: Who took this picture? As if I've known it all along, I consider the fact that Cheryl wasn't always with me, that my mother wasn't her mother. I remember this day, I remember other days like it.

_Seamus. _

Distantly, I hear a voice but it comes to me as if I'm underwater. The voice becomes more persistent the longer I ignore it. The picture slips from my hand and falls to the floor.

Someone has their hands on me, trying to bring me back to reality. It takes a while for me to realise it's Steven. Something in his voice pulls me to him, only slightly.

"Brendan!" He calls again. "Cheryl, do something!"

"I thought I got rid of all the pictures," Cheryl says, her voice shaky and agonised.

"It's too late for that now, come on!"

Steven pulls me back to the sofa, forcing me to sit down. He kneels in front of me, allows his hands to hover over mine. Not touching. No touching. No.

"Bren?" He asks hesitantly, like I'm a startled animal about to bolt.

I wet my lips, willing myself to speak. I find that I can't. Something's pulling me under, something impossible to break free of. I'm not reliving it, I tell myself that. It's there, that awareness. It's _always _been there.

"Brendan?" Steven asks again, growing more anxious by the second. I notice absently that his hands are shaking. Then I realise mine are too. "Can I…?" he trails off, unsure how to comfort, whether he should or not.

Hesitantly I reach for him, just one finger. I lay it across the back of his hand, feel his warm skin and allow it to ground me. It's all I can manage right now.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Cheryl asks frantically.

"No," Steven says, turning to her and sounding more calm, like he's taking control. "Sit down, Cheryl. You'll keel over."

"Oh god, oh god," she whispers, hands covering her face, doing as he says.

He turns back to me. "Can you talk, Brendan?"

Silently, I shake my head.

"Okay. Do you want us to stay here?"

I nod, moving my finger across his hand.

"Alright." He comes to sit beside me, our bodies distant, no part of us touching. I don't know whether I want them to or not. I can't think.

I hear some movement, and out of the corner of my eye I see Cheryl bending down to retrieve the picture. I hear her begin to rip it.

"Don't," I say, my voice sounding inhuman. She turns to me, her eyes wet with tears. "Cheryl," I croak, and I move my arm, just an inch. She rushes towards me, clutching my arm with all her strength.

"Brendan," she sobs. "I'm so sorry."

I shake my head, I'm not quite there yet. There's a lot to process.

We remain that way for an indeterminable amount of time. Cheryl, sobbing quietly and never letting go of my arm. Steven, a warm, constant presence beside me. I'm not in the room with them, I'm somewhere far away, somewhere dark and difficult and filled with my nightmares. I'm remembering.


	9. Chapter Nine

_Ste_

You think that you know a person, _really _know them. Better than anyone. But sometimes it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would; people react differently to how you expect them to.

I don't know how I expected Brendan to react to this. I knew he would shut down, that he'd take a long time to get things clear in his head. I knew he wouldn't be able to look Cheryl in the eye; but then I don't even know if he remembers all of the later stuff between the three of them. I didn't expect him to want me near him.

I was careful not to touch him when he realised. I remember all the times when I was hit and hurt and didn't want anyone to touch me. But after Cheryl pulled away from him to tell Nate what had happened, he immediately pushed himself closer to me, just enough for me to feel his shoulder rub against my own.

Since then we've just been sitting, not saying a word. I pull my legs up towards me, crossing them on the sofa. I don't know how long we're gonna be sitting here for. Brendan is just staring ahead, his eyes shifting back and forth, the only part of him that's moving. I wonder what he's thinking and then hate myself for it. All I can think of right now is that I wish I could kill Seamus. It's ridiculous and pointless but it's there, it's been there since that day. Sometimes I'd even dream about it, all the different ways I could kill him. Hands around his throat, gleaming knife in my hand. Sometimes I imagine myself in Cheryl's place, holding the gun. Those were the hardest to take. How easily it could have been me, how different things could have been.

Something must show on my face because suddenly Brendan clears his throat and I realise he's looking at me.

"Are you okay, Steven?" He asks, his voice rasping.

"Am _I _okay?" I shake my head incredulously. "Don't worry about me."

Brendan purses his lips, his expression turning stern.

"Can't help it."

"Just once…" I trail off. I don't know why I'm having to control my temper. I'm not angry at Brendan. Who am I angry at?

I stand up, unable to stop myself. I pace back and forth, Brendan's eyes following my every move.

"How much?" I ask with difficulty.

Brendan blinks, almost surprised by my question, like he's forgotten. He doesn't seem like he's here at all.

"Just when I was young, at first. Then other things started coming back to me."

"Yeah?" I try not to sound hopeful. It's selfish to be thinking of us right now, I know that.

He looks at me apologetically. "I don't remember here, this place."

"You mean the village?"

Brendan nods. "I remember being an adult, I remember Ireland. It's a bit hazy though."

"What about Eileen, your boys?"

"Yeah." Brendan bows his head. "A little."

I swallow thickly, unsure whether to voice my next question.

"What about… um."

Brendan stares at me blankly.

"It doesn't matter. It can wait."

Brendan doesn't argue with me, which is weird. He looks exhausted.

"Maybe you should go and lie down for a bit," I suggest.

"I'm not ill, Steven," he says flatly, but without any real annoyance.

"I didn't say you were."

I start to walk in the direction of his room and after a moment, he follows me. I close the curtains again, blocking out the sun beaming through the window. He sits on the bed, his shoulders slumped. I press gently against his chest to get him to lay down and eventually he does. I've never seen him so lifeless; it's as though the fight has completely drained out of him.

He stares blankly at the ceiling and I decide he might need some head space so I begin to leave. Instead he grabs my wrist tightly in his hand, his eyes piercing through me.

"Stay," he says weakly.

"Of course," I mumble, taking my side of the bed and laying down beside him, still not touching.

We stay that way for some time. I wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence is driving me crazy.

"Pretty weird, isn't it?" I say carefully. He turns his head a little to look at me.

"What is?"

"That you remembered so much, in such a short space of time."

"They told me that could happen, at the hospital. They said sometimes there are triggers, and some memories unearth a whole lot more."

"I guess that makes sense." We lapse back into silence once more.

"Are you wondering why I haven't remembered more about you? About us?" Brendan asks after a time. He sounds thoughtful.

"It's the last thing on my mind right now, Bren," I tell him, but it isn't strictly true.

"I always knew the bad memories would get me first," Brendan says quietly. He sounds so unlike himself that I turn my body to look at him properly.

"But you remembered our first time before all this."

"That's true." A small smile touches his mouth. "But since then it's only been flashes. This is the first thing I've remembered completely, and look at how much else it's brought back for me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself, I wanted to."

"No, you didn't." He looks at me, his gaze soft. "Why would you want to tell me something like that? Why would anyone?"

"I'm not anyone, and I'm supposed to be looking after you."

Brendan snorts. "Come on, Steven. I know enough of myself now to work out that isn't how things work with us."

"That's not true," I say quickly. "There's been loads of times you've needed me and I've been there."

"That's not the same though, is it? This is who I am, Steven. You know that."

"You don't have to be tough, not now." I shake my head, the lump in my throat almost painful.

"I gotta be, what else am I gonna do?"

"What was it like?" I blurt out, unable to stop myself. "Remembering I mean."

Brendan turns away from me again, looking at the ceiling once more. "Like waking up in the morning and going about your business, and then suddenly remembering a nightmare you had that night. It's not like I was there again." He shudders a little, such a slight movement that I can only tell from being this close to him.

"And when you remembered us? Was it like that?"

He frowns, considering his answer. "Not exactly. I think because it was all so physical. The memory came to me in the moment of doing something similar."

I repress my own shudder, my mind drifting to impossibilities and the alternative to Brendan remembering. I tell myself Seamus is dead, long gone, and try to push it from my mind.

"Steven." Brendan jerks me out of my dark thoughts, his gaze fixed on me again. "I think we should try and get outside a bit more, go to places I might remember."

"Why?" I ask warily.

"I want to get all my memories back, it might help."

"We should leave it a few days, until you feel better."

"I'm not sick, I told you. I need to get out of the flat. I need air. I need-" he cuts off, sucking in a breath. "Please, Steven."

I sigh inwardly. "If you think it will help."

He nods; he won't be moved on this.

I leave him to get his shoes on while I go and speak to Cheryl and Nate. They're talking together in their room, voices low and soft. I knock before I enter and Cheryl offers me a watery smile.

"How is he?"

"Better than I thought he'd be," I tell her honestly. "He wants to go out for a bit, get some air."

"That sounds like a good idea," she says, almost to herself. "Does he want to speak to me first?"

"Oh, I don't know." I glance back; Brendan's hovering by the front door. "Maybe wait until he's cleared his head a bit?"

Nate whispers something in her ear and this seems to relax her a little. "Okay. Tell him I'm thinking of him."

"I will."

My shoulders relax as I leave their room and make my way over to Brendan. He's already half out the door before I reach him. Our flat is on the ground floor so we're outside within moments.

I wait to see which direction he wants to go in and then follow when he turns right. It's a struggle to keep up with him at first, his strides are so long and purposeful. Eventually he slows down for my benefit, casting a look over his shoulder now and again to make sure I'm still there.

He takes us to the edge of the village and suddenly I'm the tense one. He senses my hesitation and stops with me.

"What is it?"

"I don't come around here much."

"Why not?"

I shrug, not wanting to go into details right now. "Bad memories."

"No one's giving you trouble, are they?"

"No, not anymore," I say quickly. There are people I'd rather avoid but Brendan doesn't need to know that. Chances are I won't even see them.

He takes off again as though there was no interruption. First we end up outside what used to be the deli. I frown at the old place, not feeling much about it anymore. Brendan frowns himself a little but he moves away quickly, seemingly finding nothing of worth in the building.

He stops again at the steps of the club. I've lost track of who's running it these days but this is a significant moment for Brendan. He stares at it for some time, particularly the balcony. I feel myself shiver at my own memories; screaming for him while he gave himself up, feeling utterly helpless and alone, little realising that was exactly how I was going to feel for years after.

He shakes his head, something new in his expression. I say nothing, allowing the memories to form for themselves but I'm not sure they are. He takes off quickly again, this time in the direction of his old flat. Shit.

"Brendan, wait." I stop him with my hands, taking his arm gently.

"What?"

"We can't go there." I nod up the steps.

"Why?"

"I… I know who lives up there. I don't want to see them right now."

Brendan frowns at me, for the first time not absorbed in his own thoughts. "You told me you weren't in any trouble, Steven."

"And I'm not. But there are people up there who I haven't spoken to in a while and I don't really want to start again today."

Brendan stares me down. "Is it another man?" His voice is tight, clipped.

"Don't be stupid," I hiss. "It's my family, alright? Or at least what's left of it."

"Your family?" Brendan struggles to take this in. "Why wouldn't you want to see them?"

"We aren't on the best of terms these days," I say cagily.

"How come?" He tries to sound concerned but I'm not buying it. I find myself beginning to smile. "What?"

"You don't care, do you?" I'm not being accusing, I'm stating a fact.

"What you talking about?"

"About me not wanting to see my family. It doesn't really bother you, does it?"

Brendan tries to look affronted but doesn't quite manage it. "Alright, maybe it doesn't. Is that normal? Do I normally react this way?" There's more self-awareness in his question and it makes me happy.

"You've always wanted me to yourself," I tell him, still smiling.

"Not a bad thing, is it?" He counters.

"Not always, no."

"So we can't go up there? I'm guessing this is where I used to live?"

"You remember?"

"I don't know." He squints upwards. "Something about the place, you know?"

"We can go see, they probably aren't even in."

"I don't need to go inside or anything."

"I still have a key, if you do."

He nods, moving towards the steps. "You coming?" He turns back to me; I haven't moved yet.

"Sure, come on." I lead the way up the steps, trying to ignore my instincts to turn back.

By the time we reach the top, Brendan's out of breath.

"I need to do more exercise. Being in that hospital bed did me no favours."

"It's 'cause you're getting old, that's all," I tease, earning myself a playful shove.

"Watch it, boy."

Brendan turns to look at the doors, trying to work out which one was his no doubt. It takes him a moment but eventually he settles on the right one.

"You reckon they're out then?"

"Probably."

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Come on then, let's have a look." I take out my keys and find the right one. "They might have changed the locks though."

"Doubt it. They probably hope you'll come back one day."

"Maybe," I say doubtfully.

The flat is blissfully empty when we open the door. I let out a breath in relief, staying close to the door while Brendan has a look around.

"Doesn't look all that familiar," he says.

"They re-decorated. I hate it."

He smiles at me. "What did it look like before?"

"Very purple. Not sure if that was you or Cheryl, mind."

"Have to ask her," he says, but then he tenses at the thought.

"She wanted me to say she's thinking of you," I tell him carefully.

"That's good," he murmurs, but offers nothing more.

"She's probably really worried."

"Mm."

"You should maybe talk to her, when we get back."

"Maybe." He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know, Steven. I don't know how to talk to her right now."

"You remember her, that's gotta be important, right?"

"It is. I just wish…" he trails off, lost in thought.

"I don't know how much you two got to talk, when you were inside." I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice but it's difficult. "It might be weird for her too."

"Probably is," Brendan agrees. "I'm just not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet, not with my little sister."

"I get that," I say quietly.

"These your sisters?" Brendan points at a picture on the wall.

"Yep, that's them. And my niece."

"They look alright I guess."

"Don't go overboard, Brendan." I nudge his shoulder.

"That your dad?"

I nod. Brendan doesn't offer anything about him.

"We better go, in case anyone comes back," I say after a while. "I don't think you'll get anything out of this place."

Brendan glances up the stairs at my words, looking thoughtful. "Whatever happened to Lynsey?" He asks suddenly.

"Lynsey?" I try not to sound too alarmed. "Maybe we should talk about that somewhere else." My eyes drift to the sofa unintentionally. It isn't even the same sofa but it still makes me shiver.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Brendan says flatly.

"You remember?"

"I know." He sounds hollow.

"Come on, let's get out of here." I tug on his arm. I'm only able to relax once we're safely out of the flat.

"Maybe you're right, Steven. Only bad memories around here." Brendan looks upwards, as though an answer will come to him.

"Not all bad." I can't help feeling the same though. It's part of the reason I left this place. Somehow things don't seem as bad though, with Brendan here. I tell him so.

He laughs a little. "That's good to know."

"We should get home. I'll make us something to eat."

He sighs, taking his time down the steps. "Guess I could eat."

"You can if it's my cooking," I tell him.

"You're probably right there."

"Ste?" Another voice pierces through our moment. I jerk, my hand instinctively finding Brendan's.

"Can we go?" I whisper urgently to him.

"Yes," Brendan says without hesitation. We move away quickly, neither of us turning back. The voice doesn't give up.

"Ste!"

I cringe a little. "This is bad."

"It's your dad, isn't it?" Brendan sounds eerily calm. That's not good.

"Yeah."

"Did you end on bad terms?"

"It's a long story."

"One I'm sure I'll want to hear sometime," Brendan says pointedly.

"Not today though."

He gives me a sideways look but says nothing.

"Think he's gone now," I say when we're out of the village and on our way back to the flat. "I doubt he'd follow us."

"Better not."

"Did that help?" I ask him, wanting to remind him what's important.

"A little, yeah." He gives me a sideways look. "Your dad must be worried about you."

"Yeah, well he'll have to deal with it, won't he?"

"Not planning on running back to the happy family then?" Brendan asks, trying to sound casual.

"No. I'm with you, aren't I?"

He smiles a little then, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'd like to say I wouldn't stop you from going, but that's just not true."

"You were willing to give me up before," I say, then immediately wish I hadn't. "Sorry. I know you don't know anything about that."

"I will someday, and I'm sure I'll have an explanation for you."

"Not sure it matters, I'm still not going anywhere."

"That right?"

"Can't live my life without you, can I?" I hold my breath for a moment, hoping my words will spark some memory in him. He looks thoughtful but doesn't say anything for a while.

"Maybe we should find our own place," he says eventually.

"That might upset Cheryl."

"I know. I'm just not sure it's best, us all living under the same roof."

"It's a good idea, Bren but neither of us has any money."

Brendan looks at me in some surprise. "I've got money."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Cheryl mentioned it in the hospital. Sale from the club or something."

"Oh right." Something occurs to me after that, but I decide to save it for Cheryl's ears only.

When we arrive back at the flat, Nate is in the kitchen cooking while Cheryl is putting the boxes away. She looks up when we enter, her gaze fixing on Brendan's face.

"Hey, bro," she says weakly.

Brendan doesn't say anything back, he simply goes to her and holds her. She begins to cry in his arms, clinging tighter to his back. I turn away, for some reason uncomfortable witnessing this moment.

"Need any help?" I ask Nate.

"Please. I'm not best equipped to do this." He looks relieved as I take over. It feels good to be doing something with my hands, it clears my head a little.

Once everything's in the oven, Cheryl comes over to me with Brendan at her side. She's wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"Thanks for doing this, Ste."

"It's no bother. Love cooking, me."

"I wasn't on about the cooking." She hugs me then and I feel safe. There's something about Cheryl, even now, that makes me feel that way. I pull away quicker than I used to though and can't quite meet her eyes afterwards.

"We were thinking it might be time for us to move on," Brendan says. I'm surprised he's brought it up this soon. I wait for Cheryl's reaction.

She surprises me by smiling. "We've been talking too; it's almost time for us to head back to Ireland. We both have jobs there, and friends. I didn't want to leave too soon before I knew you were getting better though, and if it wasn't for Ste…"

"I understand." Brendan kisses her cheek.

"You can stay here for a bit though," Nate says. "Until you find somewhere better."

"Thank you," Brendan says, giving Nate a nod. "I guess we should make the most of all this then." He gestures to the food.

"I'll get us a bottle of wine out," Cheryl says, attempting to sound cheerful. I can tell she's still struggling with all this and decide to follow her.

"Chez? You okay?"

"Oh, Ste." She turns to me, her smile a little tense at the edges. "Is he really okay? He told me he remembers me, and more about his life before this place. I can't believe so much has come back to him this quickly."

I mumble something about triggers but I don't really know what I'm talking about.

"Listen, Cheryl. I wanted to ask you something… about Seamus."

Cheryl baulks but recovers well. She nods for me to continue.

"What happened at his will reading? I remember when I came over to Ireland after… you know, you mentioned it was getting sorted?"

Her face relaxes. "We gave his money to charity, a children's one." Her expression darkens and it's the first time I've ever seen her so angry. "I asked Brendan first of course and he agreed that was best. We didn't want a penny from him. His other estates were a bit more complicated but Nate's lawyer is very good and was able to help us out. Do you need the money, Ste? Is that why you're asking?"

"No, it's not that. Brendan says he's got enough for himself."

"For both of you," Cheryl encourages.

"Well, I need to get myself a job anyway, a proper one."

"I'm sorry I wasn't around more, love. I heard you had a pretty hard time of it without Brendan. I thought you'd be okay with that new family of yours but…"

"It's fine, you did what you could." I probably wouldn't have accepted her help anyway. "I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything else to sort out."

"It's all covered, don't you worry."

I nod, relieved. "Cheryl, why didn't he tell me he was getting out sooner?" It's a question that's been niggling me for some time and I need to ask it now before she leaves.

Cheryl's face softens. "He didn't know for sure, and he wanted you to live your life."

"I figured," I say darkly.

"He's got some explaining to do, when he remembers everything." She gives me an odd look then. "About the accident, Ste-"

"What you two whispering about, hm?" Brendan interrupts us then, his hand snaking around my waist. He strokes my hip absently, the skin bare from where my t-shirt has risen.

"Talking about ya, not to ya," Cheryl teases, bustling past us to set the table.

Brendan gives me a questioning look but I simply shrug.

We eat in relatively good spirits. Brendan's quiet throughout but we don't push him. Cheryl tells us they'll be here a few more days and then they're off. I try not to feel too relieved but I can't help it.

Brendan brushes my leg under the table and gives me a heated look. It doesn't feel right to do anything tonight but maybe in a few days we can get back to normal, whatever that means these days.

After we've cleared our plates Cheryl and Nate announce they're going for a walk. The minute they're out of the door, Brendan fixes me with an intense look.

"Come here, Steven," he says, voice low.

I go to him immediately then stop myself, shaking my head incredulously. "What do you want?"

"You, obviously."

"That's not really a good idea, Bren…"

"What are you talking about?" He's in front of me then, hooking his fingers in my shirt. "Don't you want me?" His breath is ghosting across my face, his lips inches from mine.

"You know I do," I swallow thickly. "It's too soon though."

Brendan's expression changes instantly. He completely shuts down, moving away from me.

"Right."

"Don't be like that, I'm thinking of you."

"Are you?" Brendan's voice sounds strange.

"What else would I be thinking of?"

"I don't know, maybe that I'm damaged goods?"

"Brendan! How can you say that?" I move towards him but he immediately retreats. "I didn't think that before, and I don't think that now."

"It's not the same as before though, is it? I know now."

"Exactly, and you need time to process it-"

"I don't need to process it. It's always going to be there. This is it, Steven. This is me."

"And I love you, you know I do."

Brendan shakes his head. "Is it enough? Am I enough?"

"Why are you saying this now? Nothing's changed for me. Nothing's ever gonna change."

"Maybe not now, but one day you might decide you deserve better. I remember some of the things I used to do, Steven. The boys I used to have, the ones I hit and loathed myself for."

I bite the inside of my mouth; that's my question from earlier answered then.

"You're not that man anymore."

"I don't know who I am!" Brendan shouts. "How can I be what you need? How can I compete…"

"Compete with who? There is no one else."

"Not yet." Brendan shakes his head. "I need some air."

"Don't walk away from me, Brendan! We need to talk about this."

"I can't." Brendan holds up his hands, moving towards the door. "Maybe you should go back to your dad, he can't be all bad."

"Fuck you," I find myself saying. I can't explain the anger I'm feeling right now. Brendan doesn't look offended by my words, he looks calmer.

"I'll be back later," he says, opening the door.

"You better be," I warn him, my hands balling into fists. "If you think I'm gonna give up this easy then you're an idiot."

Brendan pauses by the door. "I'm an idiot now, am I?"

"Yeah, a fucking idiot."

Something crosses Brendan's face and suddenly he's coming towards me. I feel a flash of panic, wondering if he's going to hit me. Then I stand firm. He grabs my face in his hands and kisses me so violently I almost fall over. I kiss him back just as hard, biting his bottom lip and groaning into his mouth. He backs me against the wall, his hands now on my arse, squeezing.

I suddenly can't remember what we were fighting about as he tears my clothes off and pushes me against the wall, kicking my legs apart and feeling between my arse cheeks. He isn't gentle and I don't want him to be. I tell him to fucking hurry up and he listens, spitting onto his hand and coating his cock in saliva, pausing before he pushes the head inside.

I can barely keep myself upright as he pounds into me, the wall rattling with the shock of it. He bites down hard on my shoulder and I twist my hands around to slap him but he grabs my wrists and pins them behind me.

"Okay?" He whispers, overwhelmingly gentle all of a sudden.

I nod, turning my face to kiss him while he fucks me. It's over within minutes, the adrenaline still coursing through us as we come, Brendan filling me up, me spilling all over the floor.

While we begin to catch our breaths, Brendan crowds behind me, kissing the mark he's made on my shoulder. He doesn't say sorry, and I don't want him to. It's pointless to analyse things right now and I doubt my brain is capable of it anyway after that. Instead I turn myself around and kiss him again, wiling us both to remember what this is and what it means. It's not something we're ever going to forget.


End file.
